Fractal Scarring
by Emerian
Summary: Gen. The Mage's Association is more cautious in their contract with Shishigou Kairi and Mordred finds herself in an entirely different predicament. But if she has to be honest, this really isn't a predicament, not so much as pulling the rug under her and dropping her into a ocean infested with sharks because Kairi didn't freaking take her [Instinct] in stride. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

Mordred hated invertebrates, the kind that adhered to the crippling chivalry in her time. She never understood the ideals of etiquette taking precedence over the ideal of a knight. Knights saved people. Knights didn't sit back and watch corruption leak into their lives, contentedly.

But she hated indecisiveness even more.

Everyone saw his hesitation take form in sweat beads along his forehead. He had stopped before the door, hand on knob.

Mordred paused as well and nudged him with a gauntlet.

 _Hey, what's the holdup? C'mon let's go before you change your mind or something._ She frowned. _...I know you're an idiot Master sometimes, but_ even _Magi should know how to open doors. Look, just twist your hand and push._

His silence disconcerted her far too much for someone she just met.

 _Do I have to kick down the door for you to_ move?

She didn't know it was possible for him to falter even more at that. Her mind spun explanations out of thin strings.

 _Oi, Master, you can't be..._

 _...Sorry, Saber. I have faith in your instinct so I'll be sure to watch myself._

For a second, Mordred saw red.

 _What—_

He turned to face Shirou and Assassin.

"—Lord El-Melloi will be more difficult if I don't at least meet the other Masters once." Shishigou grimaced.

"Eh? Isn't it El-Melloi the II?" Shirou blinked.

"Right. Too easy to forget it." He rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. One of the few requirements to taking this job was, 'complete coordination with the Red Masters'."

"Hm. I can't blame the Magi Association for taking every measure possible to retrieve the Greater Grail. Well, if you'll follow me then."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get this over with."

Shishigou and Shirou entered the door in front of the pews. She stared, unbelieving, as his back disappeared into the belly of the beast. Leaving Assassin and Mordred alone together.

The instant wrath was crushed to her depths and she fought hard to control herself from unleashing Clarent on everyone save her Master here.

It's been maybe less than an hour since she'd been summoned. Yet Mordred knew her Master had to be more than one of those secretive magi who skulk in the shadows, assassins, never to see the light of day unless they decided to gloat about victory that they didn't contribute to. It pleased her to have a Master who trusted her as a person, to put faith in her instinct. ...but only a little bit. Otherwise, after he called her a woman, he would've raged back in the strange, proud way Magi do when their superiority was threatened.

It was strangely human of him.

So, for Shishigou to walk into the vipers' den without her felt wrong. Wronger than letting Gawain continue to ogle visiting noble women and causing Bedivere and Lancelot by default, to get into a brawl during court over forcing him to avert his eyes. Her [Instinct] screamed bloody murder as Kotomine and Kairi went through the door. She inhaled sharply. If she rebelled, Shishigou would waste a command spell in restraining her from decapitating Kotomine and his Servant.

Nothing was going to stop her from winning the Grail. She twisted her jaw from some remaining anger and talked to Shishigou through the telepathic link.

 _Master, I don't trust this priest. Are you_ certain _that you won't be backstabbed or anything?_

At her side, a fist clenched. Assassin smiled a lying fucking smile at her and angled her head. Like she was daring Mordred to go ahead and try something.

Mordred had not missed anything that reminded her of Morgan, or of Camelot, when she had been King Arthur's loyal— _now was not the time to tread upon this subject_. Instead, tread carefully around this schemer.

 _You'd better remember that you're not the only one who wants the Grail._

 _Of course not. You really believe that I'd willingly go down there with Father Kotomine? I have to stay in good graces with El-Melloi._ _But you know, this is a good time to get some fresh air while you can?_

 _Huh? The hell are you talking about?_

She could almost feel the smirk radiating from Shishigou.

 _The base is located under Trifas._

The gears clicked and slid into place without delay. She almost yelled and deafening Shishigou by default.

 _You're kidding me?! Damn necromancers!_

Shishigou's rowdy laughter echoed inside her head.

She turned stiffly to Assassin who continued to smile. Mordred hoped that at the end of the war, there would come a time, when she could kill Assassin without any trouble from her fellow Servants.

"I look forward to working with you, Saber." Assassin, thankfully, didn't put out a hand. She didn't seem like the type though. As someone similar to her mother, it was no surprise to Mordred that Assassin possessed a royal demeanor.

But still, it was like getting told directly that: _you are inconsequential to me._ So damn irritating.

"I can't say the same—otherwise I'd be lying." She grinned fearlessly underneath her helm. "And I know how you monarchs hate disrespect. So I'll show you the treatment I give to my enemies. Don't expect too much from this Saber, Assassin!"

Assassin kept smiling despite an ugly sneer creeping in. Mordred tossed her head mockingly before inching forward.

Clarent formed in her left hand and Assassin—

"A horse, a horse!" The door slammed open and a robust, clear voice filtered inside. Mordred jumped back and held up Clarent in a ready position before lowering it in confusion at the new arrival—Caster, it seemed. "My kingdom for a horse!" He shouted.

A man of average height with auburn hair; his clothes reminded Mordred of jesters back in Camelot (but one that could afford many luxuries).

"The hell?" Mordred tilted her head, armor clinking along. This Grail War just attracted all of the weirdos out of the woodstock.

"Does anything but nonsense ever come out of your mouth, Caster?" Assassin folded her arms.

Caster's lips twitched and continued to stride over to them in a boisterous fashion. "Perish the thought my dear Empress—"

"—and remove that 'dear' part. You are not that much of a fool." She paused. "I hope for you sake that it is true—"

"—An affront to my works is an affront to myself, a playwright of renown!" His eyes darted over to Mordred and back to Assassin so seamlessly, that she almost second-guessed herself.

Assassin didn't miss the look either and Caster hurried himself into a deep bow before rising to clear his throat. Frowning, Mordred dispelled Clarent and walked forward until she had ten feet between them.

"And? What is your point?"

"Ah, well, you see...Berserker went to pick a fight." Caster's pause was less elegant and more careful, in the way that he knew he may have pushed a boundary too far. Mordred hoped Assassin would lose her cool because he smirked after the pause. "But not in Trifas. Directly, at Yggdmillenia's door. Do you believe they'll roll out the red carpet for him?"

She choked down laughter.

" _What?_ " Assassin's voice dipped.

"As I said, our Berserker is currently headed to the Black Faction to bring the battle to them. for now, Archer is in pursuit, but whether or not she can stop him may as well be decided by the flip of a coin...well, it is most likely that she will fail." Caster interlaced his revelation with flourish, wild hands—jazz hands, apparently, via the Grail. She filed that away for later. "Ah, just like a lover whose blood is boiling with passion!"

But the news of Berserker of Red already heading for Yggdmillennia's base troubled her. Not because she cared for a lumbering Servant who _couldn't even make decent conversation_ , but because Mordred really wanted an outlet for her frustrations. Though Berserker will lose in the end, it meant a possible retaliation the instant she stepped into Trifas.

"Uncontrollable heroes are so troublesome," Assassin sighed and closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Any idea why Berserker lost it?" Golden eyes glinted.

Caster blinked a few times. He then turned his head and shrugged all the while with growing embarrassment.

"Caster…" She murmured, dangerous undertones surfacing. "So it was _you_ who told him of the location to the Black Faction's stronghold! You little...!"

"Oh, but please take some mercy and consideration on me! The pitiful mad warrior wishes only to seek the authority that causes his rebellious ways. How could I stand there and let him wallow in such anguish?!"

Assassin and Mordred were at a loss for words. While she was still content to watch Assassin fall off her high pedestal, there was the matter of Archer to be discussed. Berserker she didn't care about; Archer was more important in the long run, as aerial support. It was bonus that Archer was probably capable of talking sanely.

"More and more, you continue to prove yourself to be nothing but trouble—" She stopped, possibly remembering that Saber was still here. "—And you, what are you snorting about?! I hope you were instead pondering the matter of Berserker's decision to become a loose asset. After all, if you're working with us, then wouldn't you say it's time to pull some weight unlike our useless Caster?"

She stopped mid-snort and blinked before the words registered properly.

"Tch. Don't mess with me. I still want the Grail to fulfill my wish and I can still understand the necessity of working with you and that priest. Isn't that enough?" she snapped.

Assassin studied her, unnerving golden eyes and all, for a moment before turning back to Caster.

"There's no helping it, then. Archer shall have to support Berserker. I will give her strict orders to retreat if the situation turns disadvantageous through my familiars. There's no sense in losing both Archer as well. I suppose Rider is following alongside, so she has a safety net."

"Well, since that's resolved..."

"You needn't make such a mockery out of your reputation further."

"I'd like to discuss our Saber—"

"—And that's where I'm taking my leave." Mordred let Clarent disappear.

Caster and Assassin blinked.

"Saber...you're here, so why not talk? Your Master won't be returning for some time." Assassin smiled.

"Nah. I gotta go explore this new age while I can, before I get stuck underground." Mordred brushed past her, much to her satisfaction, after hearing the affronted noise.

Caster didn't seem to have any issue. He just grinned cheerfully and waved as she turned to spirit form.

—

Most of the time, the grail matched Masters and Servants to be similar in mind. They resembled each other, especially in their overwhelming confidence. Even if it meant going to the point of fatality.

For a Holy Grail War, Shishigou Kairi and Mordred were a fortunate pair. With his necromancy and her Clarent, they'd survive the onslaught that was soon to come.

That is, if there hadn't been a flaw in the strings of fate.

A different kind of path awaited the Knight of Treachery.

—

She meandered here and there, among where people congregate the most. But that turned up nothing but irritation. That feeling subsisted for a while; she got summoned to a modern age but it wasn't even remotely interesting when everything. Looked. The. Same.

Architecture resembled the medieval ages to the point of causing her to do a double-take in the first hour. It was like she had stepped back into Camelot after leaving the church. Not that the resemblance was welcome in the first place.

Mordred ended up resting near ley lines to waste leftover time. There wasn't any point in exploring, wasting mana, if nothing could amuse her.

When the curtain of night draped over the sun, Mordred left unhappily. Dragging her feet like a moping kid, she scowled at the beckoning wooden doors before pushing it open.

 _God, this would've been better if I was allowed to stay with him. This just put me in a bad mood._

And then [Instinct] burrowed into her brain like a drill. Shishigou. Was. Not. Here.

She barged in.

"Oi, priest, I'm here for my Master. The hell is he taking so long for?!"

Shirou stared at her, scrutinizing. He had just finished a prayer at an altar at the front. Mordred met his stare evenly.

"...so?"

He didn't respond for a second, and when he replied, it was slow and deliberate. Shirou stayed calm but moved back a few steps.

"Did he not inform you of his decision Saber?"

She sneered. "And how are you to know that?"

"Well...I just talked with him about the matters at hand, and with the other Red Masters, I convinced him to our way of thinking. After all recovering the Greater Grail means every weak link has to be secured before we move in on Yggdmillennia."

Mordred opened her mouth and stopped. Pursing her lips, she felt the connection between her and Shishigou open.

 _Master?_ She furrowed her brow. _Well, why didn't you say anything while I was at the ley lines?!_

Shishigou's grimace was felt even without seeing his face.

 _My bad. But Saber, it's fine now_ —

"—I have received a command from my Master. Are you taking control of the Red Faction?" A Red Servant manifested in a shower of golden sparks behind her. His eyes flashed with surprise as if he didn't expect anyone but he and Shirou to be present.

This priest's secrecy was going to be the death of her.

He glanced at her curiously after taking in Shirou's slightly defensive posture and Mordred's threatening bulk.

— _Hold on for a moment_. Shifting to the side, she let Lancer pass silently. He dipped his head respectfully.

A man of average height, his pale unkempt hair reminded her of a fluffy cloud. Impressive golden armor clung to Lancer's thin frame. He strode to Shirou with a willowy gait.

Shirou frowned at her but she held up a hand until he got the hint. He turned to face Lancer fully.

 _...Continue._

 _That Noble Phantasm of yours, Clarent Blood Arthur...an Anti-Army one...I want you to be able to utilize it without worrying about me getting caught in the crossfire._

 _Master. That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard_ —

 _This dumb Master asks you to consider his thoughts. This is a Grail War beyond that we've ever dreamed of. Twice the Servants, twice the Masters. I'll provide you all the mana you need, which means I can't focus on not getting turned to a pulp by enemy servants._

 _...giving me all your mana is the only reason I_ will _accept this decision of yours_ , Master. Mordred flooded the link with pure annoyance.

 _I'll be counting on you, Saber._ She was left with a sour taste in her mouth.

"What is it you wish of me? I suppose there is an enemy you want me to eliminate," Lancer asked.

Mordred straightened up.

"Yes." he nodded. "As we speak, Ruler is headed to Trifas. She is bound to get in our way. I want you to eliminate her, Lancer. You may use your Noble Phantasms as you see fit."

Lancer stayed silent for a second before replying: "Understood."

"Hold on priest." Mordred stalked over to stand between them. Pointing an arm in a nonverbal order not to leave yet, Lancer reacted with raised eyebrows. She'll deal with that later. "You're saying you want to eliminate Ruler without talking to them first? You really think the Black Faction'll have a better time convincing Ruler to fight for them?"

"Not exactly. But nor do we need extra power. Assassin's Noble Phantasm will correct any weaknesses in our defenses."

"So what, you're just doing it for the hell of it?! I, myself, don't care for rules, but I seriously can't see this lanky Lancer killing Ruler without getting flattened. Moreover—all this plotting and secrecy gives me just cause for investigating the sudden change of plans from my Master!"

"Well, you could say we did sway him using strong methods of persuasion. Through logic, that is."

" _Don't mess with me you damn priest_. We intended on operating independently."

Shirou made a soft noise. "Do you intend to resign from the War so early?"

"Don't jest so quickly." Mordred formed Clarent. Red lightning burned inside deeply, throwing her system into overdrive in coordination with her rising anger.

"Lancer—" Shirou called quickly at the same time as Lancer said, "Should you not push for the truth like you said instead of resorting to violence first?"

"Keep your mouth shut Lancer! There are just some things that need force, not finesse!"

He sighed at that.

"Very well, then. Don't blame me for the outcome of this duel."

"Ha! You can criticize all you want when you're tethered to my magnanimity _spearman!_ "

She had no intention of killing him though unless he turned out to be disappointing. The Grail was still at stake.

Lancer's white hair bounced slightly as he strode forward, brandishing a golden spear at Mordred's head. Longer than his body, the spear's head ended in a circle complete with spikes. That was nothing she couldn't handle with a little maneuvering, even if it was of divine origin. Piercing cobalt blues held her glare calmly. She smirked back, rising to his unspoken challenge.

Shirou's presence disappeared from her concerns for the moment. Lancer's blood called to her, and she would abide by its demands to be shed.

"While Kotomine Shirou is but one of the Red Masters, he is the one in charge of direct support. I will not allow you to harm him." Lancer continued to parry her blows easily to her growing frustration.

Steel on steel echoed in the Church. Pews broke under the windfall damage. While Mordred fought like the wild Berserker than the noble Saber, anyone would've been off-guard long enough for a few fatal opportunities. But Lancer somehow kept up—no, he was on equal terms. That bothered her a lot.

They exchanged over forty blows before Lancer decided to move forward, displaying his class's famed blistering speed.

Mordred grunted from the sudden force. Clarent met the spear in a shower of golden sparks before utilizing a [Mana Burst] to force the divine spear down. Her foot planted it in the ground she bared her sword at his unguarded neck.

His eyes narrowed. That was the only warning. Mordred snarled as he kicked her side—her armor blocked the worst of it but she slid backward from the force. Surprised, she couldn't stop Lancer from bringing up the spear again the instant he removed her foot.

Another concern was how his own armor seemed to negate all the slashes she brought down upon him earlier.

His armor might prevent any slashes from being too effective but Mordred fancied smashing his skull open. Very much.

A torrent of mana rose.

Focusing another [Mana Burst] for her legs made up for the small gap in Agility. She grinned fearlessly as she tackled him and wrapped her arms around his thin waist. Lancer twisted around instantly like a startled cat, both in body and expression.

"It's over Lancer!" Mordred crowed and suxpled him into the floor. Dust rose out from them like a waterfall, greedily expanding into empty space.

"I think not." came his cool voice as he suddenly flipped their positions.

"—agh, shit!"

Mordred blanched and drew up her knees to push him away by kicking before he could pin her down fully. Part of her was impressed that he still stood unwinded. The other part was irritated that this meant she might not win.

Nevertheless, she found herself outnumbered as Caster and Assassin appeared. The latter had an ugly snarl to her lips and the former a look of delight, switching his eyes back and forth at them.

Lancer stood tall, forming his spear again. He calmly kept his stare fixed on Mordred.

"You have my thanks, Lancer." Somehow, Shirou had managed to escape the confrontation unscathed.

Lancer replied as his spear turned to spirit form: "You needn't thank me for protection that was to be your Servant's purpose."

He smiled. "Nevertheless, I appreciate you and your efforts."

Lancer nodded. "If Saber's test is over, then I will set out for Ruler now."

"Just a minute Lancer. Please remain here for a few minutes."

"...understood." He moved off to the side.

Meanwhile, two glowing purple portals with arching chains formed above Assassin's head. She thrust out an arm at Mordred, still sneering.

"Well, Saber, it seems like you've proved yourself plenty. At least, in your strength. However, I won't tolerate any attempts on my Master. One step anywhere, and I'll behead you where you stand."

"As if a lowly Assassin like you could stop me," Mordred hissed.

"Perhaps you should have been better off spending more time as a squire—"

One of Lancer's eyes glinting a bright blood red quenched her retort. Shirou placed a hand on Assassin's shoulders, murmuring entreaties.

"Saber," he started when Assassin backed down along with her portal chains, "let me explain."

"Then don't beat around the bush." Mordred slammed Clarent down into the stone.

Caster winced.

"As I said," Shirou said smoothly, "Shishigou Kairi changed his mind." He tilted his head. "Unless you intend to defy your Master's will, I believe it is still prudent for me to act as the coordinator, while the other Red Masters fortify themselves in a safe spot. I'm still going to assume you already received a direct version of what I just told you."

She gritted her teeth. Slowly, grudgingly, she nodded. Shirou beamed. If it wasn't for Lancer and Assassin being present, she'd punt that right off his smug face.

"Now then Saber, would you do us the honors of revealing what lowlife legend you hail from?" Assassin asked sweetly, tilting her head and folding arms, taking on the appearance of a forgiving ruler.

But she was not some damn retainer who would come crawling back after a failed rebellion.

"You must be mistaken, Assassin. They seem to be of the Round Table, O Assyrian Queen! That hardy bearing! That helm! That kingly sword that dazzles brighter than any piece of silver!" Caster rubbed his gloved hands together with a twinkle in his eyes. "I know this style of armor to be similar to those in Arthurian legends. In fact, I would go so far as to say that—"

"Caster, your theatrics does no one any favors, much less a migraine," Assassin cut him off, rubbing her forehead. "If you can be quiet for more than a minute, then perhaps we can get to the matter of the subject without dancing around it needlessly."

"You wound me, Assassin!" Caster clutched his chest to mime out a heart attack.

Shirou smiled awkwardly before talking again.

"Saber, this might not be reparations, but I'd like to reveal the Servants of Red's True Names. I am sorry, that you can't operate independently with your Master, but I believe this to be the better course of action." Shirou said.

"Master…" Assassin murmured, eyes flickering to meet his.

"It's fine, Assassin," Shirou reassured her. "It won't make any difference. Our Rider, Archer, and Berserker are: Achilles, Atalanta, and Spartacus."

She controlled her breathing at the first name he revealed. Atalanta, definitely; Spartacus maybe. But he's probably going to get killed early by the Black Faction from his campaign.

"Putting your faith in only Greek Heroic Spirits?" Mordred snorted. "That's not wise."

She wouldn't put it past Assassin to teach Shirou the same lying smile she sported.

"Lancer, if you will." Shirou held out a hand for him.

"My name is Karna, the son of the sun god." He dipped his head but his voice was dispassionate and cold as his suddenly neutral expression after they stopped fighting.

...okay, so maybe she'd have some trouble with the Hero of Charity. She'd just have to fight in an enclosed space. This time, that damn Lancer won't get the upper hand on her again.

"Semiramis. An Assyrian Empress. Let's work nicely together now." That lying smile appeared again.

Her Agility eclipsed Semiramis. D-rank versus B-rank was slaughter, and that infuriating smell will disappear with her head.

"I, Caster of Red, am William Shakespeare!" He bowed deeply and outstretched a hand for her as he looked up. His smile was not unlike Semiramis's. But at least it felt like that shitty cock wizard Merlin instead of Morgan's secretiveness. "At your service, my good knight."

Weakling. One step. One swing.

"And you?" Shirou's voice, no matter how gentle it was, brooked no arguments. His eyes were a warning enough as well as Karna standing behind him.

Whatever, she had gotten the point by the time Karna forced her into a stalemate. Surviving a suplex did wonders for her [Instinct].

She huffed, irritated that she was effectively backed into corner. Her helmet collapsed into her pauldrons with little fanfare. Nor did she like how Shirou rubbed a spot over his left eye. Concentration sprawled itself all over his face.

"I am Mordred, the true successor of the King of Knights, Arthur Pendragon," she declared proudly. It was still one act of free will she had.

Karna didn't react as far as she could tell. She ignored it for now.

Semiramis was taken aback.

Shakespeare's face lit up like a child upon hearing they got to have candy after a long dry...wait, that was for alcoholic metaphors. Well, he was _just_ _ecstatic_ so Mordred resolved to avoid him in the future.

She wasn't here to make friends in the first place.

"The Knight of Treachery," Semiramis murmured under her breath. "A bastard child who destroyed Camelot from the inside and ravaged Britain till she met her end on Camlann. The one who ended King Arthur's glorious legend. A pity." Her tone was surprisingly respectful.

She tensed anyway.

Shakespeare nodded furiously and whirled around, showing his back, unworried. "'tis a shame, for—"

Mordred stopped him without remorse by baring her teeth. She let her words ooze with so much murderous intent that even a trashy Servant like him would understand.

"Oi, Caster, what would you think about me taking you out of the War, since you're unnecessary? You're being a waste of air." Mordred narrowed her eyes and brandished Clarent at him. It appropriately cowed him, or at least, subdued his words, to her satisfaction.

"Father Kotomine!" Mordred winced from the sudden vigour Shakespeare found; he must've been shaken, or affected, in the moment of her unbridled ire. "As much as I'd like to converse and whatnot, I must return to my workshop and continue to toil over the item you requested."

Shirou's face filled with understanding. "That's fine. We still have three days before we will assault Yggdmillennia."

 _Three days?_ Her brow furrowed as she mulled it over. _That's kind of a short preparation period._

He shot her a full-teethed smirk and a tiny nod before going off in spirit form.

Mordred turned to Semiramis and raised head, grinning. She glowered back.

 _That expression is unsightly for a monarch._ Mordred didn't care that she might be that kind of king one day—everyone will be too busy admiring her prowess in battle instead.

Semiramis hadn't liked her words, though, despite the useless Caster irritating her some hours ago. So much for getting on her good side, Mordred thought, rolling her eyes.

"Mind your tongue. As the Knight of Treachery, it would not be out of line to behead you as proper punishment." She drew a line across her neck using perfect nails _._ "A reminder that you are not necessary when we have Rider and Lancer." Perfect though they were, none had calluses. Why would there be, when this queen had faced only political subterfuge, and none of the wars Mordred participated in? If there were any, they were invisible.

But Mordred scowled back anyway, like a bellicose snapping turtle. Like she'd let Semiramis have the last word.

"Right back at you, turtle-bugged woman."

Semiramis and Mordred held eye contact, neither deigning to defer to the other's authority by breaking the stare first.

After a brief silence, air filled with tension, Shirou—rather nervously, as if he was actually apologetic—spoke up.

"Must you be so unaccommodating for our new ally?" Shirou frowned.

"I only mean the best for Sir Mordred." Semiramis turned around and smiled at him. Her eyes widened sharply in interest. "Forgive me, Master, but you must be careful with Heroic Spirits like these."

Mordred snorted. Hypocrite. But it wasn't like she could change her reputation. Like the odds of fighting against Father, or any of the spineless invertebrates of that accursed table. Even so, her stomach churned under new stress and she fought the lump forming in her throat. So why did she still sting from that comment? Semiramis was far from King Arthur's legend and it wasn't Father who stood before Mordred, yet...

...She spun around on her heel, making sure that her sabatons dug in holes as she walked, and waved a hand over her shoulder. "Fine then. I'll be around. But don't expect me to come running back for help. This Heroic Spirit, treacherous she may be, is stronger than a mere queen and an author."

But she couldn't help but shiver inside. Karna's eyes lingered on her.

She left via spirit form regardless of Semiramis and Shirou's responses.

She believed it was a simple explanation. He was just unsettled from the brief spar they had. He might be a great warrior from the Mahabharata, but everyone knew Indian Mythology blew everything out of proportion. As long as his power was directed at the enemy, she had little problem with him. Suddenly, the dream of gaining the Grail and fulfilling her wish didn't seem hopeless, like it had, after Shishigou joined the Red Masters.

She'd keep an eye on Shishigou's status.

He had just talked to her; his mana was available to use.

Mordred wondered if the Grail could be used as a drinking cup. She grinned to herself.

The sweet taste of victory'll blot out any lingering mana from vanquished Heroic Spirits.


	2. reverie i

_His name is Vasusena._

 _His friend is Suyodhana._

 _He is the son of Radha and a charioteer. He is the greatest ex-pupil of a teacher who cursed him. Now he is the king of Anga. But it is a hollow title and everyone at the competition for Draupadi's hand mock him for it._

 _Such is the fate of a charioteer's son._

 _Sometimes, he is Radheya, Vaikartana, or Angaraja. He is not yet Karna. Golden armor remains fused to his body._

 _Suryaputra is a favorite one of his. But Suyodhana only changes once. And it's not that much—just Duryodhana._

 _Suyodhana still remains the strong-headed man he is._

 _Vasusena is his father's son. But he is also the Hero of Charity._

 _Perhaps, that is why Krishna believes he can switch sides yet still. Though their fates are already engraved into the dharma of the Mahabharata._

 _The chariot stops at the Ganges River an hour before the sun is to set._

 _Krishna then takes the hour to cajole Vasusena into opening up and leads into joining the Pandavas. Of course, that is after when Krishna asks him if Kunti approached him yet. Instead, they dance around meaningless subjects after Vasusena coldly relayed the tale of his debt to Suyodhana._

 _Surya watches over them until it is time to leave._

" _You are more human than you think," he comments. He has to say it at least once before they descended into war._

 _For the smallest second, Krishna stilled. But then he resumes walking to the Chariot without any sign of distress. Vasusena stands up, watching his back._

" _Yes," he replies after a long pause. "And so are you."_

 _It is the cold truth that greets them upon the Kurukshetra battlefield. Vasusena will peel his skin for Duryodhana even if it means losing his immortality. Krishna will bring about the bloodiest war to prove a dharma._

 _Duryodhana crushes Karna in an unrelenting embrace when he returns. Attendants flutter about them with worried faces but he hasn't any time for them, only his dearest friend._

" _I was afraid that Krishna had decided to take matters into his own hands, for his cowardly prince," he mutters into Karna's ear. "I suppose that he understands what I'm about to tell you: no one else would receive the privilege of being mourned by me. Not even for a king or for the gods."_

 _Karna managed a small smile. His friend hadn't been that open since he gave Karna a kingdom and a platform to stand on. If his heart was like a smooth flame before, now it can truly be called a solar flare, red as his cape._

" _Not even for my lord father, Surya?"_

" _That remains to be seen." He feels Duryodhana's smirk keenly as the setting sun._

He woke up in Semiramis's lap again, in the gazebo near the water.

Instead of hearing her cooing over what a cute but workaholic Master she has, he focused on the dream, grasping for the last remnants as he adjusted to the waking world.

It was a terrible thing, Amakusa Shirou mused.

He had thought Karna was burdened with a heavy fate after reading the Mahabharata and he still believed it.

Sometimes, he desired to reach out and comfort the sun. He smiled to himself, uncaring of Semiramis' reaction for the moment. He really was still that boy of miracles from before the rebellion, before the famine, if he unconsciously included the Red Servants in his wish.

Well...he'd start with his fellow Servants.

Men and women of valor, history placed them on a pedestal from which none could jump off.

 _It might be cliché, but where are the heroes for them?_

 **A/N:**

 **So, this was born from a list of AUs found on Tumblr by silverandbluedragons. FYI, I update faster on AO3 and my account is Emerian. I haven't exactly written actual fanfiction in years, since my own personal projects kept me busy, so there might be some OOC moments.**


	3. Chapter 2

"Well, sis, seems there's only one option left."

Atalanta nodded calmly but the light of battle entered her eyes. Achilles drew a line in the stone in front of them using his hero-slaying spear.

"Prepare yourself, Rider. I shan't let you try and win without trouble."

"Hmph, you'll have to run faster than those foot races that interrupted your hunting so much."

She stared at Achilles.

He blinked first.

A few minutes later, Atalanta removed her shoes and Achilles put away his armor and orange scarf in silent anticipation.

A few minutes ago, Karna had wandered over to the other side of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, to place the mass of red feathers he called a cape—Achilles thought it was actually comfortable and fuzzy on a cold day—just outside the limits.

The two Greeks had decided on a foot race to settle the matter of whether not they would get to act as the vanguard. Karna cared not for it so the two Greek Servants were left to argue hotly. Achilles wanted to use Troias Tragōidia as the lawnmower it was but Atalanta's Phoebus Catastrophe was useful as a preemptive strike.

The Chaste Huntress would run barefoot. Achilles wisely didn't make any jokes about it this time. The first and only time, he walked away with more than a few arrows in his arm. Furthermore, Achilles was one of the few who she allowed to discuss the issue of her legends in detail.

While Achilles was naturally the fastest hero in the Greek mythos, Atalanta possessed far better footwork. So he took off his silver shoulder guards after Karna suggested it though it was more like criticism.

Well, if Achilles hadn't realized by now that it was in the Lancer's nature to calmly reveal such observations, then he'd be sparring with Karna instead of racing Sis.

"Your body is vulnerable to only those of [Divine] blood, like me, or to acts not forged from malice," Karna said easily. "So why is it that you would wear armor that might slow you down, no matter how negligible? Even if you were to be injured by some Heroic Spirit with godly blood running in their veins, you would relish the challenge."

'Cause the scarf looked better with the armor Hephaestus gave me. But he didn't dare say it out loud in fear of seeming overly narcissistic, and he knew Atalanta wouldn't appreciate frivolous things like that. It was a miracle that historians highlighted his bloodthirstiness instead.

Except for the bit with Patroclus as anything but his lover. That stung a lot.

"Uh." Achilles whipped his head back and forth between a bemused Karna and a disapproving Atalanta.

She shook her head.

"Well, it was a gift," he answered lamely when Karna didn't stop waiting for an answer. "You understand right?"

Karna dipped his head before moving into position. A tiny smile appeared and Achilles's heart warmed. It was like a blessing—the other demigod was very nice to look at, when he wasn't getting poked by his armor's spikes. And as one of the famous heroes of the Iliad; he was used to being in the center of attention, liked it even.

He huffed though. Hades, that was a bit disconcerting to experience for himself. Too damn similar to Odysseus's disapproving looks.

Watching Atalanta hold back chuckles helped him get over it.

Before Achilles was about to ask when she wanted to begin, Atalanta disappeared into the corridors, melting into the darkness like it was the forests she was raised in. He knew she hadn't went into spiritual form; she simply ran off.

Atalanta, Archer of Red, was one of the few Greek Heroes who were boasted of being the swiftest runners. Not even a Saber-class Servant could chase her down when she put her mind to it.

"That's unfair, sis." Achilles dug in his feet and broke into a dead sprint from the force. "At least say 'start'."

Stone houses, water gardens—everything did not blur, rather, he ignored the objects that prevented him from running straight ahead.

Eyes on the prize.

Leaping over fences and benches didn't slow him down. It only made him determined to go faster, to prove to Atalanta, that no, he wasn't reliant on triggering Dromeus Komētēs by stepping off Troias Tragōidia. Running through a battlefield in one breath and destroying all obstacles, it was like a cheat code, if it wasn't for the necessity of an exposed heel. Utilizing it wouldn't exactly gain Atalanta's good graces. He only need look to the golden apple for a prediction.

The wind whipped his face, blowing his hair back, and exhilaration nestled itself into his heart.

A flash of verdant green and a golden tail was up ahead. Achilles knew this was the only opportunity he had to surmount her speed.

I'll make it up to her later, he decided.

"Oi!" He screamed at her back.

Atalanta tripped and when Achilles passed her, she reached out and seized his scarf. Achilles followed her example as she already leaped up, darting out of sight.

Clambering to his feet and giving his all in this foot race, he still couldn't quite make it, even if he surpassed her A-rank Agility.

Ahead, his vision sharpened into a courtyard just before a boundary. Ancient trees rose above on both sides of the wall. At the center Karna's cape was laid out for the victor.

Her nimble build vanished into the red, feathery bed that was Karna's cape. Achilles slammed into her not a second too late. She snuggled inward to throw off some of the force.

"Sorry, but I'd like to still cut through the vanguard." he rolled off the cape and sprawled onto his back.

He huffed as Atalanta poked her head out, leonine ears twitching.

"I refuse." She sank back into an ocean of red feathers, sounding extremely satisfied. After taking one look, Achilles couldn't blame her.

It was a very nice cape. Achilles patted it absently.

"Want to race again for it? Best two out of three?"

No answer. "Fine, I'll be taking position as vanguard then."

Karna intervened before Atalanta could pounce.

"Achilles. Consider this: why not let Atalanta strike the first blow? Let her shoot a calamity on Tauropolos and break apart the advance, leaving the remnants for you to pick off?" He walked over to them, from where he had been leaning against the wall. Shimmering sapphires glinted brighter in the rising dawn. "It is not all about stealing the glory to yourself, when Atalanta, and Saber, and I are also present."

"Oh? Are you worked up after seeing us race?" Achilles grinned. But he refrained from manifesting his spear. Racing Atalanta took more energy than he would've guessed.

Had there been no need to ally, Achilles's answer to Karna's bluntness was a spear to the face.

The reason was simple. All three had a mutual agreement on an opinion concerning the mystery of Kotomine Shirou.

And Caster and Assassin of Red.

Sly. Secretive. Strange.

Sticking together worked since their personalities meshed well. Atalanta made Karna's cape her nest when she could while Achilles and Karna fought hand-to-hand combat because anything more would destroy everything they touched, was just one of the many arrangements they had.

They were completely comfortable with each other, even sleeping in physical form together despite Atalanta and Achilles being terrible bedmates.

"Perhaps," Karna's tiny smile returned.

"Oh, that reminds me. What shall we do about Saber?" Atalanta's voice made the cape seem animated and alive, with her body shifting inside.

"Talk to her of course." Achilles responded instantly. "See what her beliefs are."

Karna nodded. "I feel that Saber need not witness anymore of Kotomine Shirou's secrecy to join our alliance."

"And why is that?"

"She has already made an enemy of Semiramis."

"You're kidding me." Atalanta's eyes sharpened.

"I assure you that I am not." He sat down next to Achilles with a pensive face. "But that does not always mean an ally. I am prepared to strike her down with my spear if needed."

Achilles didn't really care that the Lancer could be a stick in the mud sometimes, but he remained cool-headed in situations that had Atalanta seething. Being impartial was important when you had people driven by emotions foremost.

"For shame! I wish I could have arrived a minute sooner. Witnessing two of the Red Faction's Servants' speed on display is indeed worth leaving my workshop when my little project is not yet completed!" A booming voice echoed down the halls as Shakespeare approached them.

Atalanta poked her head out and her face soured.

"Caster," Karna greeted without reproach, raising his head to meet the gaze. And that was the difference between him and Achilles and Atalanta.

He observed the playwright calmly.

Damn his excellence at poker faces.

"Even a writer has limits to what they can do in a day!" Shakespeare professed in that melodramatic tone of his. "[To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.] That, and I wished to greet the lovely and glorious sunrise." He added coyly. His eyes fluttered like that of a maiden. But since said maiden was a man with clear facial hair and masculine build, Achilles wasn't hard-pressed, or inclined, to believe it. "So, good morning to you, radiant Lancer."

Karna didn't budge. "Then be on your way, Caster. Or else you will miss it."

"Ah! Do not be so hasty my friend! I have also decided to take on a little project for when I won't be toiling on something for Father Shirou." He brandished a paper and a pen at Atalanta and Achilles.

Shakespeare smirked at Atalanta's straight expression. She dragged in an exhausted sigh.

He'd better stop him before she decided to claw off unimportant limbs.

"What, is that supposed to poke our eyes out?" Achilles smirked back, feeling petty in the moment for the both of them.

"It does has perfectly sharp edges," Karna mused. "Perhaps if he were to run at us while we are distracted then his chances at success increase tenfold. If his aim is to cause a scratch anywhere, of course."

His bland delivery had Achilles snorting and Atalanta cracking a small smile.

Shakespeare smiled but cleared his throat so they focused on him again.

"[These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume]."

"What." Atalanta blinked.

"Seconded." Achilles raised a hand, like a child about to ask a question after being guided through a problem only to understand nothing.

"...," the playwright slapped a hand to face. "Again, it is a shame that my works do not count as 'necessary information' by the Holy Grail." He shuffled closer to Atalanta and Achilles. "Verdant Archer and lionhearted Rider, I have approached you here, to ask your thoughts about me composing a love poem for the two of you."

"Are you serious?" Atalanta was the first to speak.

"Completely." Shakespeare nodded his head solemnly.

It was the wrong answer. Her eyes flared a violent shade of bright green as she declared her opinion.

"Whether it be a joke made in earnest or it a mere jest don't assume you can get away with it." Atalanta stalked off with Karna's solar flare cape.

"Ah...there she goes," Achilles drawled. He mourned briefly for the cape generated warmth. He sat up straight, not ready to leave yet.

Said owner followed her without complaint, only shooting an inscrutable look at Achilles. Achilles blinked in confusion and raised his hands up in a silent, "What?". Karna shook his head. His confusion swelled.

It wasn't like Shakespeare had hurt Atalanta—and she could murder him before he could do anything.

Shakespeare made a distressed noise. It was eerily reminiscent of a dying cat. Achilles blamed his time in the Achaean army for creating an example or two.

"Truly, I did not mean to offend you, verdant Archer!" He called out.

A leonine growl answered his apology and Achilles believed it wasn't completely sincere. The apology, that is. The playwright was still a part of Shirou's little council of evil.

Shakespeare moaned in despair. Even though the Grail hadn't given him knowledge of the plays, he didn't think for a second that Shakespeare didn't participate in at least one of them.

"[All that glitters is not gold]," he lamented. "I thought she would have appreciated an offering to the beautiful love that lies between the Chaste Huntress and one of the ten most famous heroes in the world—"

Achilles grimaced. Talk about a mood whiplash: Shakespeare's eyes lit up when he realized he was still present.

"—my apologies, I have not yet queried about your opinion on the matter. How about it?"

Achilles exhaled.

"If Atalanta wasn't my compeer, then I'd give you all of my blessings." he shrugged. "Sis isn't interested in the kind of relationships that you're thinking about." Seeing Shakespeare's flabbergasted face was an excellent look for him. "And I don't mind."

Seeing Shakespeare's mind whirl away at mental gymnastics was not an excellent look. He hummed before continuing: "'tis a shame as well. But since you've not retreated from my presence, I would like to bestow a gift on you."

"That depends on the gift." Achilles felt a yawn coming on. He made sure to make a show out of it as Shakespeare formed a book in his hand.

"Since Archer has rejected my offer so harshly, I shall focus on a different couple. I believe you'll find yourself wanting to finish it even if it means staying up till the beginnings of dawn filters in."

Achilles didn't really care who else Shakespeare was referring to.

"You really are a strange Caster; Servants don't need sleep unless we have to replenish our mana storages." Achilles plucked it from Shakespeare's offering hand without looking at the title.

"And it is merely used for punctuation. Book pitches require total enthusiasm. How else will I get the mighty Achilles to dive into the literary world?"

He stared, not amused.

"I don't think I want to read this anymore." Achilles decided to crack open the book later, after seeing Saber of Red—no, Shirou said she was Mordred, for himself.

Kingslayer was the first thing he thought. Like to Shakespeare, he was weirdly ambivalent about Mordred. He could admire all he liked about how she defied King Arthur but the outcome...not so much.

Say what you will about what happened with Agamemnon during the Trojan War but Achilles only had issues with the egomaniacal king. It was a shame that many others died because of both their pride yet wartime thundered on during their spat. There's bound to be some necessary sacrifices sometimes.

"Truly, you do yourself a disservice by not starting it this instance!"

He waited a moment for Shakespeare to stop gripping his shoulders. He didn't.

Sighing, he flipped the book over and had to blink a few times when he saw the title.

Troilus and Cressida.

"You see, my dear Rider—"

"—how did you get Cressida from Chryseis?" Achilles muttered. He looked up.

In that moment, he swore, not to let Atalanta or Karna be swayed by this man. The barest hint of dissatisfaction made itself plain as day in his eyes after, as if that wasn't what Shakespeare wanted Achilles to focus on.

His eyes slid back to the title. The letters were of a bright gold complete with a gaudy image.

Under the unassuming cover, was one of Achilles's contentious aspects from the Iliad lurking inside? As long as it wasn't Penthesilea or Hector, then he was fine. Still, he felt discomforted at how brazen Caster's actions were.

He chuckled.

"Always the angst from you," Achilles commented, trying to shake it off. "Maybe you should try your hand at a different theme. You know, shake it up a little. Can't always do the same ol' thing. Gets boring."

Shakespeare's eyes gleamed and launched into a spiel of which he knew not was about.

Achilles was not a patient man. Aside from an extremely select circle, he wasn't going to wait for slugs when he's busy sprinting through his whole life. He allowed him to continue chatting with him about pertinent matters. Not those reserved to a Servant's legends.

Shakespeare leaned in closer than what Achilles was comfortable with.

"But would you apply this concept to your actions in the Trojan War? [The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue!]. Did you and other heroes of renowned fame not chip away at Troy's white walls for a decade?" Caster shrugged, far too calm for a man who seemed to be aware of Achilles's shrinking tolerance. "A decade teeming with the blood of the fallen?"

"You really don't listen to people at all, do you?!"

Shakespeare removed his hands finally and turned around. A cough cleared the man's throat. Then he gesticulated to an invisible audience as he launched into an, admittedly, impressive speech about the dangers of complacency and humanity in wartime.

Achilles stood up and rubbed his suddenly pounding forehead. ...this headache couldn't be from hearing this idiot ramble, couldn't it?

Then he recalled Shakespeare's words.

What the hell happened to watching the sun?!

This Caster was such a lying bastard. At least Odysseus had the decency to explain his motives afterward. Shakespeare remained an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to never know.

Tucking the book under an arm—for downtime, he told himself—Achilles left the Caster to his verbal brainstorm.

—

If she came to despise everything in this round of the Grail War, she'd be fine with it, including the other Red Servants. Judging them based on their reactions to Kotomine Shirou remained the highest priority. Even should one of them err by calling her a girl or anything similar. But if for whatever reason, approving—not accepting—of the priest's plans, Mordred had Clarent to guide her.

So be it. They burned the bridge first anyway, with that priest's shady demeanor. Assassin's indulgent smiles and Caster's unsightly theatrics added fire to oil.

To Mordred, she knew the situation for what it was in truth.

To start with: Shishigou Kairi locked away in the beast's lair remained the objective, and her the gallant knight on a quest, blocked by the wizards Semiramis and Shakespeare.

Which made Atalanta, Achilles, and Karna the mercenaries for hire. Add in a strong moral code, and they'll fight with her for the correct path instead of for gold.

And Kotomine Shirou was the "final boss".

All the knowledge provided wasn't completely useless. Mordred rather liked these terms a great deal more. Much simpler to use. And more apt.

She nodded to herself, satisfied at the hastily-made plans. This is one of the few courses of action possible. Mordred had no reason yet to defect to the Black Faction. Not unless Shirou had a disastrous plot that makes it impossible to realize her wish.

Standing up from the bench she had been perched on, she headed north, where she sensed the rest of the Red Servants after pinging for them.

Hungry, the horizon swallowed the sun behind its grassy hills. She continued on foot in spirit form in the darkness. Though her mind still remained restless over the state of her Master, it was better to put it aside for now.

It didn't take that long to hike to the Red Faction's base and Mordred had to take a second to pause at the entrance.

Mesopotamian architecture provided humble houses all around the central stronghold: Semiramis's throne room circle. Several water gardens planted themselves in strategic areas for phantom residents to use at their will. As a whole the fortress possessed a beauty despite the purpose it held in the Grail War.

Grudgingly, stingily, she admitted that maybe the Hanging Gardens of Babylon deserved her praise. Of course, Semiramis would be forced to acknowledge Mordred as a visiting king making a worthy appraisal of her kingdom. On the other hand then she'd be forced onto her best behavior. Eh, she wasn't exactly jumping with joy to heap lavish praise onto the Empress.

To her, a king who doesn't represent his populace at all is better than a king who acts like a tyrant inside, and outside, of his dominion.

It's an embarrassment to everyone and himself.

The king takes and the king gives. It is an exchange of security for resources.

During Father's reign, everyone followed the king.

Because he saved them.

He was a dragon taken human form and he led Britain out of the wars that followed the Roman Empire's fall on victory's wings.

Mordred laughed. And she laughed at the thought of it. She always found absurdity in everything about the Round Table, about Britain, about the fundamental ideals of chivalry.

They were all a bunch of weaklings that waited on a savior to fight for them every time until Mordred was born and stole King Arthur's protection from them.

My way of the king will show Father that his kingship was a failure. The way I do it doesn't matter as long as I remain the strongest.

As the heir to King Arthur, she'll surpass his failures and come out on top. After all, Morgan le Fay was the only reason she was denied the throne. That was one of the few things that Mordred couldn't blame Father for.

But—it was absolutely unforgivable that Father didn't recognize her as a member of the Pendragons. She ground her teeth involuntarily. Rage overcame her everytime she remembered it and this time was not an exception.

"I'll surpass Father," she said again. "and I will force him to acknowledge me."

If you want something, then take a hold of it for yourself.


	4. Chapter 3

As sad it was, Shishigou Kairi is officially the first person to actually believe in her. Nothing about Magi impressed her but with one look, Kairi was clearly made of a strong constitution from long years of field experience and lived without the usual grandiosity.

He was made of steel.

It just made her want to see if she could rescue him from the belly's beast.

Dawn came in a great ball of pink and orange flames racing across the sky. She yawned, having stayed up waiting for it, sitting on top of a roof. Wasn't like there was an adult to come running just to yell at her to get off.

"Act like a proper knight. Don't you want to be held to the esteemed standard of Sir Lancelot and Sir Bedivere?" Mordred grumbled to herself. "Knights don't act like delinquents. Knights stand aloof and off to the side while Father delivers orders to be swiftly carried out." She grabbed her face and slowly dragged it over and down. "Maybe I want to set a new standard."

"Set a standard for what?" a cocky voice came from down under.

As she was dragged deeper into her thoughts, with nothing to thrash against, she didn't care if the other Red Servants approached her finally. She was dying to do anything with anything except for Semiramis, Shakespeare, or Shirou.

...that was strangely alliterative. Maybe all those S's stood for sinister.

"For my brand of chivalry," Mordred replied in a tone that brooked no arguments and leapt off the roof, joining them. She almost did a double-take. Karna was accompanied by who must be Achilles and Atalanta.

But he stood off to the side, arms crossed. And still decked out in that golden armor of his. Mordred hadn't worn her armor since she arrived and it made her uneasy just because she didn't have any other measures of defenses. Her comfort was chief in this situation. He nodded his head at her, calm and respectful. She did not like the sudden opinion that tried to change against the one in the church.

Sighing, Mordred turned her attention to the other man, the one who spoke to her. Taller than the three of them, green hair cut in an odd fashion, he possessed a stronger and thicker build than Karna. Where Achilles's clothing had obvious Classical influences, Atalanta's dress—cat ears. Cat tail.

A lion, she corrected herself immediately. In Camelot, lions were reserved to the nobility. A proud animal with an even prouder mane, it was an apt symbol of the powerful. Mordred wanted Atalanta to like her now.

It might be literal proof, that without a doubt, she is a true king. The other was that her ears and tail were fluffy. She couldn't care less about what the other Servants thought of her now.

Atalanta blinked languidly like the awesome cat she was.

"Lion, right?"

"Yes." Thankfully, Atalanta didn't seem irritated by Mordred's blatant curiosity.

"I thought 'cat' was good enough for you," Achilles looked at her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Atalanta's pretty cool. She's a cat." Mordred said, as if they didn't need to hear her reasoning and they didn't.

"You mean kitten," Achilles interjected, smug.

"I'm a lion, thank you very much." Atalanta smacked his shoulder.

"Same thing." he brushed invisible dust off where Atalanta smacked it, and continued before she could retort: "Say, Saber...you interested in a quick spar?"

"Yes." she said instantly as Atalanta and Karna gave Achilles varying looks of incredulity.

Achilles grinned.

She wasn't sure how long the fight lasted. His Agility surpassed her by leaps and bounds out of her range and into her face when she couldn't react. But she ended up on a knee with Achilles hurled into the water. It had ended up becoming a long scrap, with too many hits and not enough blood, that Atalanta wandered off to hunt and came back with a deer for Karna to roast while Achilles and Mordred finished up. She expected something like this: same Endurance, same Strength.

The only question was, who had the stronger will?

But I won't get an answer for a while. She winced and stood up, leg wobbling from thinning adrenaline.

"I'll admit: that title of yours might not be so great after all, but you're worthy enough, to me, to spar without hesitating." Achilles shook out the water from his soggy clothes, torn scarf mending itself before smirking at her good-naturedly.

"Your ass was calling for me to kick it." Mordred stretched her lightly-bruised arms carefully.

At one point, she snagged it with her foot and delivered a merciless barrage of blows that didn't even hurt him. But he acknowledged it, so it was fine for now.

"And it looks like you're not reliant on your weaponry to have a good time." She gave a fearless grin.

"Looking forward to more spars, if there's free time in-between the skirmishes." Achilles held a hand out for her. "Well, I'm overly experienced with waiting."

She smacked it with her hand and he had puzzlement etched into his face but it lifted as soon as she started talking. Mordred wasn't sure how to react about it. It was her way of showing thanks. Nothing wrong with that.

"Hold on. You headbutted me, so I should only return the favor right?" Mordred thought Achilles to be a worthy ally, rival even, as he should be, as one of the world's ten famous heroes. And he felt like a guy who didn't like manipulations, if she remembered The Iliad correctly.

That was all she needed.

"I'm fine with that. But don't be annoyed since we spar—"

She snatched Achilles down to her height using his collar and bashed her head against his. "That was just to showcase my strength and—eh?!"

Mordred fucked up. Achilles had stumbled back with a pained grunt holding his broken nose. While it wasn't a clean break, it wasn't too messy either. But blood continued to flow like a slowly-melting river.

Karna hopped off the bench and pulled him closer to examine it, ignoring his flailing. She felt uncomfortable. Just when she had been about to make a friend for once through the common interest of beating each other to pulp, she went ahead and ruined it. Again.

"Andreias Amarantos." Atalanta came up behind her. "It is how his near-immortality appears in the Holy Grail War."

I fucked uppppppp.

"There's a loophole—" Karna stopped Achilles from mumbling further by snapping it back into place, releasing his chin since he hadn't stopped squirming. She couldn't help thinking, dumbass.

"While his body is protected from attacks, it does not include acts that display 'friendship'."

Oh. So she hadn't fucked up yet. Well. Good to know she didn't have to be rebuffed after a mistake.

"Saber." Karna turned around as Achilles gingerly poked his nose only to wince. Atalanta stalked over to him and pushed him off to the side, ignoring the snort he made. "What you did just now, was the latter."

"Oh."

Karna eyed her for a long time before continuing. "I believe that because of your disdain for your armor, and the way you were brought up in Britain, you had gained a disliking for prolonged physical contact. Perhaps you might express such affection or friendly acts through shows of force. Do you honestly believe that your strength is the only commodity that others value? In short, you need to present yourself as the strongest to protect your precious people. And that is why Achilles's defensive Noble Phantasm didn't protect him."

Mordred was left flabbergasted. A part of her wanted to murder him for uncovering the deep-seated trauma of being Morgan's son and the other wanted to find a hole to crawl into and figure out why she was like this. A third felt like shutting everything out till she could settle the rising emotions.

"Wow." Achilles started. "We need to work on that whole, 'mince your words', Karna."

He sighed. "And that is how you shook off the parts that were too much for you in the Trojan War."

Achilles inhaled and narrowed his eyes, offended. "How about we spar when you come back." No doubt that was a statement.

As they bickered lightly, Atalanta approached her, unaware of how Mordred's insides became stew from Karna's piercing words.

Before Atalanta was about to say something, Karna blinked and abruptly strode off after muttering something to Achilles.

"...the priest called for him," Achilles said with no small amount of distaste as the Lancer vanished by spirit form.

"Great." I pity him.

"Speaking of which, this is a perfect occasion to bring up an offer. I believe it's a little more than obvious that we prefer it if you'd join with us." Atalanta handed her a juicy piece of meat.

She vaguely heard Atalanta's words. Her mouth watered as she bit into it, mumbling a quick "Thanks". Swallowing the rest of it down, she answered the Archer's question.

"Yeah, yeah. So this group would have the advantage in numbers—wait, Spartacus is gone right?"

Atalanta nodded.

"Huh, that's what I thought. And I'm the Saber-Class Servant to boot with." Good thing I hadn't been a Berserker on summoning.

"So how 'bout it Saber?" Achilles said, suddenly staring at her with such calmness that belied the hilarity of his broken nose.

She. Would. Not. Laugh. And ruin her image.

But the invitation needed to be addressed, she thought, and covered her mouth under the pretense of wiping blood from the meat she devoured under a few seconds. Damn. She might have to find more food for recovering a little bit of the mana used.

Well, they hadn't pissed her off by calling her a girl. Yet. Any allies are better than none. Wasn't like I had friends all around me, in Camelot.

"Mordred," she said finally. "I'd rather you call me that than 'Knight of Treachery' and 'Saber' or any of that crap."

Achilles grinned and raised his head in acknowledgement. "That's your name, I understand. But you're fine with Lion King—"

"That remains to be seen. But calling me 'king' is acceptable."

He snorted but wandered over to where Atalanta's kill was kept warm by a fire. The Archer in question took her turn by walking to her, like a predator in grassfields.

"Welcome, Mordred," Atalanta touched her shoulder lightly.

Her heart skipped a beat. What is this. And why do I want more.

But Achilles had something to stay still.

"I do have a question for you, Saber." Achilles's hawk-like eyes met her fierce leonine ones, as he returned with his own serving.

"...go ahead."

"—Listen, you have to tell us everything you know about the priest, and what happened before Karna came to receive his orders." Atalanta intervened smoothly in a gentle voice.

"Do you mind saying that again? I loved the warm tone you used."

"I did as well, which is why I'm not fussy about you interrupting."

"Kotomine ended up taking my Master to some place and then he never came back." Mordred said before they could get into an argument.

Karna's return was inopportune. "You sound as if he's personally victimized you beyond that." He observed. "Or you tend to rile up easily."

"Does he do that often?" she demanded.

"Yes." Achilles and Atalanta chorused.

The four Servants then jumped into the meat of the situation about what to do with Kotomine Shirou. Achilles and Mordred advocated for death threats and finding their Masters, while Karna remained concerned about his own Master's safety in the process, and Atalanta just wanted her wish to be granted.

Mordred hadn't particularly cared about Atalanta's wish because she hadn't specified what exactly it was, but the woman was so nice, so she tried to put on some optimistic tones in her voice.

"By the way, we had been calling ourselves Team AKA, since no one else seemed to care—"

"—You only care about it." Karna interrupted dispassionately. But a tiny smile appeared as he nodded at Mordred, probably about how she joined the fold.

Feeling somewhat inadequate under his gaze, she hesitantly grinned back.

"—Agreed." Atalanta tore a generous strip off her slab of meat.

Achilles slapped his face. Mordred pondered the team name.

"Let me guess. The first 'A' is Achilles? Hmph, as the youngest Heroic Spirit here, shouldn't you be generous to your junior and give up the first slot to me?"

His shit-eating grin met her fearless smirk.

"Then come here and tell me that again. Preferably in my face."

"Oh, I'll tell you in your face all right."

—

Achilles ended up leaving a few minutes after he and Mordred had a pissing contest over whose name got to be in front. Apparently, it was not a relevant subject when Karna came back with intel.

"I'm somewhat intrigued by this play Caster gave me," he admitted and waved a copy of Troilus and Cressida at them. "You guys can kill Assassin of Black without my help. Besides, I want to know why he thought it'd be a good idea to do something like this." The last part was muttered and Karna elaborated, picking right off when he stopped.

"Caster has proven himself to be a man of many vices. But one of the highest vices he displays is his love for drama. Even in life, I suppose, he has a tendency for tragedies."

"Then his Noble Phantasm is something related to it." Mordred concluded. Heroic Spirits' Noble Phantasms related to their greatest feats and there were few exceptions.

Karna nodded. "I advise you to avoid him whenever convenient."

"Already planned on it," she sighed. She might have to revise her opinion of the playwright if he ever showed it.

Meanwhile, Atalanta took away annoyance from Achilles's flippant excuse.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am perfectly capable of doing it myself." Atalanta raised an eyebrow.

"I don't doubt it."

"Then why will you continue to do what it is you did not a minute ago?"

"Because it's nice to witness and certify the stories I grew up hearing in my childhood."

Atalanta hesitated before smiling awkwardly. Achilles had no such reservations.

"What." Mordred stared while Karna gave her the details of what just happened. Not that she could understand it, for obvious reasons.

Karna had been given a weird card thing that was supposed to pay for whatever they did in town. Mordred was determined to abuse the hell out of it just to be petty. Their first order of business was to procure modern clothes.

Sighisoara's passing residents gave her and Karna odd looks outside the biggest clothing story they found.

It was surprisingly nice to see Atalanta smiling at her as she absolutely did not run inside like an excited cat, whooping in exhilaration. It reminded her of a watchful figure—maybe a sister. Not that Mordred had anyone to compare Atalanta with. As for Karna, he stopped at the entrance to look over a pair of khaki pants. But that didn't matter; never had she seen so many clothes to pick!

A female clerk approached her as she stared in awe at the rack of the thick blue pants. Jeans, the Grail's knowledge reminded her.

Mordred needed them now.

"You guys cosplayers from the city?" The clerk asked. "Sighisoara's all about keeping that old-fashioned look, so I guess we attract that kind of crowd. Think the architecture's too modern, though, for that knight look you're going with."

"Yep." Mordred said, distracted, still staring at the immense selection. She had no idea where to start. "The man in red and black's with me." That was probably something she should ask of her.

"Dude's got a nice cape." she hummed. "So you need help, or are you fine on that front?"

Mordred still couldn't tear herself away. "Uh—yes."

"Clothes get stolen?" She expanded the selection and quickly asked: "What colors you like?"

"Dark blues. And you could say that." She liked the idea of this calm small talk, unlike mundane things like the weather. At least this had sustenance. And it was better than thinking about how it felt normal. Like she belonged here.

With deft hands, she pulled out three pairs. "Know what shirts you want to go for?"

"I'm not familiar with the fashion here." Mordred's eyes remained glued to the jeans in her hands.

A faint chuckle came from Atalanta.

"At least I came in today so you'd get the newest." She moved on, beckoning for Mordred to follow. As a Servant, she caught a quiet remark, "There is harm in looking like a granny when you're not even twenty."

They chatted aimlessly through the clothes, and when something caught Mordred's eye, the clerk was patient enough to let her try it on. It took around ten, fifteen, more minutes to properly put together an attire for walking among the humans.

A red leather jacket, black and red checker plaid, black boots, and jeans. I have an overwhelming preference to red. As expected, my taste is perfect.

Atalanta's approval of nod sent a weird feeling through her heart. ...why does there need to be more reflections added to the pile?!

The clerk was gracious enough to let her wear it on the way out and she remembered at the last minute to come out with her red under armor clothes under an arm. Less questions, the better.

As they walked over to the cashier, her eye caught a stand.

The Grail might've granted her literacy but it hurt her eyes to read the overly-cursive Victoria's Secret. Ow.

Then an idea blossomed. Mordred became struck with a fiery vengeance for the team's name as she stared at the skimpy clothing. It seemed superfluous in its laces and colors but Achilles felt like that kind of guy, just for the attention it'd garner him.

"He needs it," Mordred whispered fervently. "Can we get him this?" she said to Atalanta.

Except a different response answered her. The Archer had been distracted by Karna's new attire. He came out from the dressing room wearing khaki pants, gray sneakers, and a red button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Snappy.

"That's lingerie. For women." The clerk paused.

Mordred stared.

"...so does your friend want it?"

"Rider will wear about anything." Karna came back with a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve. "Nor is he picky."

"Cool. More money." The clerk shrugged but added a black pair to the pile. Mordred couldn't wait to see the look on Achilles's face.

"Like that has stopped him before." Atalanta sighed to herself. Then she perked up, striding over to a floral skirt.

Mordred blinked.

"We'll take that skirt and a shirt of your choosing to go," Karna said.

Ten minutes later, Mordred, Karna, and Atalanta left the store, all satisfied.

"I will return after giving Achilles his set, but it will be almost upon dusk as I wish to speak with him." Atalanta nodded at them briefly. "If Assassin of Black appears before my return, then may the will of the hunt be with you two," she added and took her leave by scaling the nearest building, dashing across rooftops.

She sighed; she kinda didn't want to be with Karna, not with what happened at the church. He hadn't seemed or looked hostile since then but Mordred didn't know what went on in his mind. It was was just too damn stoic, in demeanor and face.

"I don't mind having spent time in the store, but was it completely necessary, when we are able to stand on guard out of Assassin of Black's range?"

Mordred preferred having her feet planted on the earth, and especially bonus points if she didn't have to don her armor. She hated spiritual form; it was like she'd disappear if a particularly strong gust was able to touch her.

Instead, she said, "A king must always look presentable. And I am the strongest knight to come out of Britain. It is even more imperative, so these clothes must not be unbecoming of me."

His calm gaze filled her with alarm and a little apprehension.

"If you are the strongest knight, then haven't you surpassed your father already?"

Too much confusion filtered through her face, eyes, and mouth—the latter through flurries of every curse word she learned from the knights when they thought no-one was listening. Karna didn't bat an eye, waiting for her to stop. Afterward, Mordred sagged as the winds left her falling sails, groaning.

"...okay. I think I'm done—but damn. I think you'd be a good therapist. But not like dropping an evaluation like that at once."

Karna squinted at her, doing that analyzing shit again. Mordred felt a headache coming on, from both this guy's obtuseness and the issue with Father. Rubbing her temples, ruminating over it can wait for later. When she was alone.

At this rate, I'm going to have to take a time out from the Grail War.

"I'm not lying."

"You are not." He agreed. "This is also a first for me. Many people, past and present, have expressed…that I am an idiot for doing so."

Somehow, he became even more pensive than she thought was possible.

She shrugged. "So just make it come off as softer. Let's go to the marketplace. If you're gonna brood over what I said, then I want to be eating something."

"Very well, if that is what you want," he said finally.

Yeah. Something I want, she thought in a bitter tone. All this sweeping up the hidden urchins in the tumultuous shallows called a heart needs to pause until she can become adjusted.

The marketplace was unremarkable in every aspect. Mordred just enjoyed the food with Karna close behind, a silent and watchful figure.

"This town is unbearably old-fashioned." She muttered to him, at the fountain, waiting for Atalanta.

"Suppose the city nearest to our battlefield is Bucharest, or anything akin to a properly modern city." Karna reached around her shoulder to take a fruit from her bag. He ignored her sharp look and low growl. "Aquariums, zoos, amusement parks, and so on. If Sighisoara or Trifas possessed anything of that ilk, you would become distracted by wanting to visit one during daytime instead of focusing on replenishing mana. In a town such as this, there is only the possibility of preparing for the War."

"He is correct. And there is the secrecy to think of. Though I would not mind visiting one of these aquariums you spoke of." Atalanta appeared in a discreet cloud of blue dust, wearing a skirt and a sleeveless blouse, ignoring Mordred's blank face.

"Fine, fine, there's that too." Mordred grumbled.

They made decent conversation for once, as the sun dipped closer.

But what was odd about what ensued next, was the dying light still caressing Sighisoara.

Mist flooded in like a dam breaking.

"Assassin of Black is truly a Servant with audacity." Atalanta stood up.

Cries for help started to ring out from every direction in Sighisoara. Mordred narrowed her eyes and formed Clarent and her armor in a burst of red sparks. Karna and Atalanta followed her lead.

"Does it seem likely that other Black Servants will choose to show up?" Karna said to Atalanta quietly.

"It is uncertain," she answered, "but it does not hurt to look for them."

The mist had now swallowed up their vision to the point where Mordred could barely see two feet in front of her.

She grinned, feeling the light of battle fill her body with eager anticipation. "Does it matter, though? God, I'm raring to go already!"

The hunt had begun.


	5. Chapter 4

Assassin of Black was a strange Heroic Spirit. Very strange.

"Whose fucking child is this—?!" Mordred suddenly had to slash Clarent a few times against the barrage of daggers.

"That's not very nice…" a child-like voice confirmed the assumption. "We're not that young…"

"Oi! I don't want to hear that from someone who consumes the souls of the populace just for mana!"

"But there's nothing wrong with that, right? How else do we stay manifested?" Their voice was entirely innocent.

Mordred opened her mouth to bark at a strongly-worded retort that was not acceptable for children to hear.

"Saber." Atalanta released experimental arrow into the mist. They couldn't hear it hitting anything, not even a barrier. "Can you sense it?"

She screwed up her face, reluctantly ignoring the enemy for now. [Instinct] kicked in, making up for the loss of visibility, taking in the conditions presented.

Then Mordred knew without a doubt that [Instinct] was enough to guide them out of the mist, but killing Assassin of Black was the highest priority.

Karna and Atalanta's Magic Resistance was only a rank below Mordred, so they could still stand without trouble. Had anyone's Magic Resistance been C and below, then a decrease in Agility would've transpired.

But the people of Sighisoara had nothing. That was the problem of weak citizens. Frowning, she twisted around to see Karna staring intently at a random spot.

The realization was like taking a sledgehammer to a nail. Everywhere, coughing and choking filled the mist, and she could vaguely make out the outlines of ordinary humans fainting as others cried out for help.

They'll die in terrible pain, without being able to escape ever, she thought. That rankled her. The king is the only one who can deal capital punishment. Assassin of Black is going to die for this. What is a king without his populace?

While she mused, he spun into action. Raising his spear, the entire slab of wrought iron shone through the mist. Like a beacon of shelter. A promise of sanctuary. That the sun still shined through the darkness.

"Shelter yourself immediately in the buildings—" he moved off behind them, dashing through the streets.

Yeah, it's better if he takes care of the people. Mordred's [Charisma] only showed itself fully during rebellions and leading armies. She was far from being a trustworthy person. It was the last thing these people needed.

"Hmph." Atalanta shot off, leaving Mordred fumbling after her swishing tail. Like a predator on the prowl. Mordred could respect that a lot. "Let us go after the enemy while Lancer directs the people away from the battlefield."

"Ugh—slow down a little, Archer. I'm not Rider or Lancer."

"My apologies. But I scented the enemy Servant's Master just now." Her cool voice came from ahead of her, two steps to the right as she lowered her speed letting Mordred match her.

"Damn this serial killer though."

Atalanta murmured agreement. Then quick as her famed speed, she shot at a small silhouette who shifted back into the mist.

"I will provide support, so draw out Assassin and I will snipe the Master when they appear."

"All right! Let's do this Archer!"

Assassin of Black interrupted without shame. "—Hey, hey, hey! How did you know who we are? Because our name is Jack the Ripper." The voice was right in her ear.

She immediately swung her sword at Assassin of Black and Atalanta did the same with a few arrows. Mist parted before flooding the gap.

Jack the Ripper. So there were Heroic Spirits whose legends weren't obviously good, in the sense of an adventurer.

Except...she might have become one from the beliefs of people who cheered on this mystery.

Just like me. Those invertebrates, in the only act of free will, followed me in the growing dissent against King Arthur. They wanted to see how far this mad warrior would go against the emotionless king.

She snorted.

What a terrible way of living and a kingship.

"Hey, hey, hey, can you tell us your name, too?"

"Hell no." Mordred slashed when she sensed movement, relying on the small disparities between the mist. Damn that [Presence Concealment]; she heard Assassin of Black's voice clearly all around but in most cases, she should be sense something solid in a mist like this.

"Aha! As we thought! You're a woman, aren't you?"

Mordred involuntarily ground her teeth at that mention.

"Yep!"

"Then in that case—"

"—Let's do it."

Jesus, this Servant had a bad case of multi-personalities. But still that wasn't any excuse. Fine then. Assassin of Black can suffer the consequences for saying it.

"Hah!"

Atalanta sensed the mana building and leapt away. Mordred was assured of her nimble feet to dodge it.

"Don't underestimate me, you damn brat!" Her helmet merged into her armor without delay and she threw up her sword.

"[Red Thunder]!"

Instead of dispelling the mist only, [Instinct] told Mordred to continue throwing it around and hit Assassin of Black. Propelled forward, she was caught off-guard at first by the mist leaving, and then the lightning penetrating her arm. She skidded past the Servant from momentum and crashed into a wall.

Atalanta followed up with a barrage of arrows. Even injured, Assassin of Black dodged most, and those she was hit by, were reduced to grazes. Mordred had to give her credit, and for that only.

Wailing, she ran off as a blurred image. Atalanta burst from the wall she perched on and pursued the fleeing Servant. She gaped.

"Agh! Seriously Archer? Again?!" Mordred had never cursed her B-Rank Agility this much until now.

—

She found Assassin of Black being comforted by a woman, who must be her Master from the command spells alone.

For a brief time before and after, Atalanta had her misgivings about fighting Servants who were children. Unlike Mordred, who had the appearance of a teenager and certainly acted like one, Assassin of Black looked to be a young girl. Steeling her heart, Atalanta put that out of her mind for now. Even if she was a child, they were both Servants summoned to bring victory and the Holy Grail to their Master. And they were Jack the Ripper nonetheless.

However, the fact that the Magi were bothered by the serial killer duo had nothing to do with her. What consolidated it had been when Assassin of Black involved children. Her Master was an adult and allowed, encouraged, it to happen.

Unforgivable.

It did not matter to her either that Assassin of Black's Master appeared to be protecting her. They had revoked any respect by what they did a few minutes ago. And no more children will be hurt.

The song of Mordred's armor came clanging into existence as she rounded the corner. Atalanta's ears flinched. Her body jumped aside on an animalistic instinct—

—Archer of Black. An arrow whizzed into the space she had been in less than a second ago into the Master's chest. She expected no less; he had shot down her volley at Berserker of Black a few nights ago.

"Saber!" She warned.

Another destroyed the ground where Mordred was. She coughed from the smoke cloud and glared in the direction it was shot. But she was uninjured.

Atalanta checked over her shoulder yet Mordred was already galloping after the unseen Archer of Black, roaring for punishment. And out of the mist. Such a strong instinct, that it even shines through her anger. How strange. It's endearing; that enthusiasm.

While she ran off, Assassin of Black stared dazedly at her Master in disbelief.

"Mother…! Mother, Mother, Mother."

Assassin's Master caressed the soon-to-be dead Servant, murmuring something into her ear before dying. The command spells flared a blood red but it was useless. Atalanta couldn't help but feel a little pity in spite of herself.

Assassin of Black would not survive to find another Master to contract with. Atalanta would ensure it.

She shot Assassin of Black in the shoulder with the arrow she still had nocked. But she didn't move. Perhaps she hasn't yet grasped the 'll be for the better if Assassin disappeared here and now. Atalanta sighed. Let your regrets dissolve with your body. Become irrelevant and find peace in the nothingness.

Instead of turning to blue dust like all Servants do when their spiritual core is expanded, Assassin of Black convulsed violently. Not even a scream ripped from her mouth.

Puzzled, she approached with care. The arrow should've destroyed her spiritual core. To say the sight before Atalanta was bizarre was correct. Her blank face suggested that she was incapable of fighting back but no further signs of her body disappearing showed up.

During the hunt for the Calydonian Boar, Atalanta's instincts kept her from becoming another corpse. As a hunter, she prided herself on sensing many enemies even before Achilles or Karna. She feared nothing in the forest, an angry god's wrath, or fighting in battlefields where a single decision can bring death in a second. Atalanta had full confidence in her skills to run away before anything could hurt her.

Assassin of Black was shot and Mordred went after Archer of Black. Karna remained in the area but seemed to have paused.

It wasn't fear that paralyzed her instincts. Something along the lines of if she remained here, something horrible was going to happen.

Something was extremely wrong with this Servant.

Regardless, chills bloomed along her spine, rippling into deadly roses. Atalanta never once distrusted her instinct.

Then Assassin of Black's head swiveled, ignoring the limits of the human spine, to face her. She opened her mouth.

"Why?" A river of a black fog-like mass expelled itself after Assassin of Black spoke.

"Why? Why, why, why why why—"

Every superfluous thought vanished. All she could hear was the question being repeated over and over, slamming into her skull with a vicious throbbing. Atalanta's blood pumping turned frantic and her ears flinched even more as she tried to jump out of range.

"This is…!"

If the mist that plagued Sighisoara some time ago was a poltergeist, then this fog was more like a wrathful specter. The mist swirled into a murderous, thick fog full of spirits. She would later come to understand that it was all the unborn ghosts released from the focal point of Jack the Ripper to attack the nearest living being.

Atalanta, Archer of Red, was completely engulfed in the swelling fog.

In that moment, she saw hell.

—

The disappearance of Kavacha and Kundala and his spear did not worry him. Though, only the black underclothes and solar flare cape remained, he was far from defenseless. He could form it if he truly need it, he understood. Faint and present.

He crossed his arms, looking from side to side.

Karna was unmoved by the sight of Londoners stumbling around aimlessly, waiting for windows of opportunity that would never come. Where their feet dragged, his continued to move forward with a dignified purpose. These images before him were just a fragment of the time in which Jack the Ripper roamed as one of the many hells in the underworld.

Any lasting harm they dealt became confined that of the mental kind. His indomitable will was the strongest part of him, thanks to his divine father's kindness, as he strove to never disappoint him. He treasured it even if it had led to his death in the end. As long as Surya had pride in him, then he would never falter.

He considered it a path that still brought his divine father honor. Though the ridicule it brought him as the false king of Anga gave grief to his human father and mother, there was not much to do.

Like these spirits roaming the dead streets of London with nowhere to go, he had been forced to follow the path of dharma and found no escape. Often, because of that, he wondered why Krishna bothered trying to change his mind.

Duryodhana and Vrushali had been his anchor to life. These residents had no such thing.

Friendship is indeed an ephemeral idea. He enjoyed his time with Atalanta, Achilles, and Mordred—he was pleased that she hadn't been upset further after their wrestling—but after they win the Grail, they would return to the Throne of Heroes. And it would be the end of that.

He was not particularly optimistic about the odds of meeting again. Or Achilles ribbing him about it should he share his opinions on the matter. Yet Team AKAM satisfied him for the moment.

His thoughts drifted back to the matter at hand. After seeing a few disemboweled prostitutes and flying newspapers warning of the monster lurking in the dark alleyways, it wasn't hard to put together. However, earlier he was able to catch a glimpse of the Servant, but now he wasn't positive about what she looked like, aside from definitely being a female child. He suspected [Discernment of the Poor] had granted him this much.

"It must be related to a skill of hers…" he pondered out loud. It mattered not that he wasn't alone in a sense; as a child, he was prone to doing so despite creeping out a lot of people.

The possibilities of Jack the Ripper remained endless.

Jack the Ripper is a doctor.

Jack the Ripper uses surgical procedures.

Jack the Ripper is an artist.

Jack the Ripper is a member of the nobility.

Jack the Ripper is an average person that can be found anywhere in Britain. Unconstrained by something like a caste system in ancient India, they were free to do as they please.

There were no limits. No rules. Karna had familiarity with this at that archery competition for Draupadi's hand. My aim was truer than Arjuna's in the end. But my status was not.

He sighed. It was like that impulse that made him go out and pretend to be a Brahmin to be taught by that great guru Parashurama.

"...They were all the lies and the truth. By being the fetuses taken from the mother's womb, they are already taken in as part of the Ripper's legend." He tried to move on from remembering the past. "The Holy Grail tried to call forth a 'Jack the Ripper' that could embody all of these possibilities."

It was little surprise that a Heroic Spirit would act like this, after exploring this despairing hell. His lips pressed together in contemplation. Little difficulty popped up either to put the pieces together about Assassin of Black's personality, as this iteration of Jack the Ripper. Children follow the concept of an "eye for an eye" as they are wont to do, when the world is still simple. Earlier, Mordred's provocations were met with comebacks.

As for the location everywhere, sin happened. The kind of sin where nothing happened because the concept of "salvation" could not pierce through this despair.

This strange place is the darkest reflection of humanity's secrets. This held none of the imperfect charm humans have to me.

He moved on without looking back at the sight behind him, where children continued to be dumped into the river Thames.

After finding a bridge and crossing it, Karna blinked when a girl in tattered clothing appeared. He blinked because for some inexplicable reason, he knew this was the one girl who Jack the Ripper appeared as in this Grail War.

"Aren't you scared, big brother?"

He rubbed his neck from sudden tension. "Why should I be? You merely did what you could to survive. It is unwise of me to blame you when this is where you lived and died. If I were to do so, then I am hardly deserving of my title as a charitable hero."

She was so shocked her fists clenched and trembled at her side.

Karna was far from being an ordinary person to be affected by this [Mental Pollution].

"The world is ugly," she said after silence eclipsed them for a moment.

He did not respond, fixing his gaze firmly on her.

"This is why we wanted to go back."

He narrowed his eyes. "To your mother's womb, am I correct?"

Another girl appeared to crawl on the wall. More and more came by the second but he was not concerned. Completing a circle around him, the surrounds disappeared leaving only mist and a vague sense of what was solid and what was not.

"We want to go back to mother's belly."

"We wanted to go back."

"We just wanted mother's belly."

"So why? Why is everyone being so mean to us?"

"We wanted to be saved. So why isn't anyone saving us?

"Were we bad?

"Were we hated?"

"Were we wrong to be born?"

There is no right answer for all of these, but the last one has—

Kunti set him adrift after fearing for her unfaithfulness in summoning Surya to sire him. He had born no ill will to her; he knew it had been the only course of action possible.

Therefore—

"—Being born is not a sin," Karna said immediately. "It is an immutable truth. Everyone has the capacity for evil and good." Though these children didn't seem to comprehend his answer, instead starting up something similar to a nursery rhyme.

"The unborn children, the born children, the unborn children…they all go down the river…" one by one, they started to wail in unison. All created from this loveless city of fog.

He released a long-suffering sigh before letting [Mana Burst]: Flames conflagrate the area. Except for the true [Jack's Ghosts] child escaping this inferno, they cried and shrieked as they were consumed.

Afterward, the surroundings soon returned to the dreary underworld of London. People resumed their sordid lives as personifications of the meaning "victim".

Karna was about to continue when he winced at the instant constriction in his chest, grabbing it until it eased up, hissing afterward. Kavacha and Kundala's effects remained active in this illusion to cover for any surprise attacks but its effect would worsen over time. [Mana Burst]: Flames activating for less than two seconds drained about an eighth of his mana. It appeared both he and his body didn't understand the concept "conservation".

But he needed to find Atalanta. Yet, she and Mordred possessed stronger senses to act as an inner compass, or indicate the correct direction.

He groaned.

This would be simpler if he knew where he might sense her.

—

"How did it go?"

"Master. It appears that Assassin of Black's Master is dead. But—" he frowned before sharp surprise filled his thoughts.

Archer and Lancer of Red's physical forms disappeared in the sudden fog. Jack the Ripper as the cause remained highest on the list of possible reasons. Chiron arrived shortly before the mist took over the city. Perched on the clock tower, the highest building where you could see everything in Sighisoara, he and Fiore observed the onslaught.

He could sense their spiritual signature but he would have to confirm it later. Informing Fiore of this, he turned his attentions to the only Servant who pursued him in the aftermath.

Saber of Red running after Chiron was like a rampaging Berserker—even like Spartacus, if he wanted to go so far. Her angry glare pierced Archer. Saber's exposed face was surprisingly young and carried an unorthodox bearing, but having taught countless heroes he understood that this Servant had the disposition of a hero.

His stomach churned at the anticipation at fighting her, in a pleasant way. He smiled bitterly. As a Heroic Spirit, he was summoned in his heyday, which caused him to lean toward recklessness, much like many of his students. He didn't possess a fatal flaw, but it seemed hubris came to plant seeds in his heart.

Saber's stare included Fiore for a brief second. Chiron released a swift arrow to cement her decision on taking him out.

"...good grief. She is truly of the Saber-class to figure out where we are already." He continued to shoot arrows that Saber of Red shrugged off with her silver sword. "Master, I suggest you vacate the area. We don't know her parameters since she never showed up in Sighisoara or Trifas last night."

"A Noble Phantasm, do you think?" She asked as she moved away from the center of the tower.

"It's possible," Chiron responded. "Be careful. I shall lure her into the forest. I haven't sensed any Masters as well."

Fiore smiled. "It will be fine, Archer. I will make my way to the pick-up location."

Chiron returned the smile. "I will bring you victory."

"Yes, I'll be counting on you." She left on her [Bronze Link Manipulators], swinging forward using discreet back alleys. He let out a sigh; Fiore's departure sounded like a metal juggernaut. But she was a competent Magus.

He had faith in her.

As Saber neared him, he felt at ease that he was the only opponent tonight for her. Chiron let loose a few more arrows before leaping off the clock tower, gliding across rooftops. A howl of rage followed his descent and he smiled to himself. Saber of Red would not be out of place among his students.

Where it took him five steps to clear the other half Sighisoara, it took her twelve steps. Her Agility might be lower, but still remarkable.

Chiron melted into the forest. Though he wasn't as adept at it as Archer of Red, it sufficed. For forests were one of the perfect spots for Archer-Class Servants to hide out in. Any Archer worth their salt could blend into the environment. It wasn't like you could just slap the name "Archer" on a Heroic Spirit who throws weapons and drew the attention all upon themselves.

"Hey, Archer of Black! Are you really going to retreat like this?!" She skidded to a stop. "Come out here and fight me, if you're not gonna try and turn me into a porcupine!"

He deigned not to reply, instead shooting more arrows. The silver sword cut them all down, but he now knew the limits of her range. Growling, she must've decided to give up on taunting him and use other measures. He tensed his muscles to move out of range if needed.

"[Red Thunder]!" Saber of Red yelled as she raised her sword skyward in one hand. Red light flared.

So the tip serves as the focal point, Chiron thought as he avoided the sudden destruction of a lush grove into a desolate clearing. I'll be fine if I dodge based on how she angles it.

Red lightning continued to arc all over the place while Saber of Red's gaze flickered everywhere for his presence. At this point, he'd have to hope for the best and make use of Pankration. His arrows would be child's play for her to strike down.

It is imperative that I make the Red Faction's Saber retire from this War, since we lost our Saber. Ah, Siegfried, your noble heart won out in the end and I found no fault with it, except for the other debilitating edges of this selfishness to grant your desire. Already the Black Faction is at a disadvantage with you and Assassin gone.

She struck him as the type to fight dirty and get in close but lacked a refined style. It also reflected what little he had seen of her swordsmanship. 90 percent placed on offense and a scant 10 percent to defense.

Chiron darted in the gaps between the red lightning as she stomped around, shouting his name. Among other nicknames, that firmly belonged in the "coward" category.

"I'm closer than you think," he allowed himself to jest with her, smiling slightly.

But Saber of Red was caught off-guard in such a glaring moment that he wanted to chide whoever trained her. What kind of a caretaker let her go onto the battlefield without proper discipline?

But he still capitalized on the opportunity. As she charged at him, he extended his arms and coiled them around her wrists. She was too close to accurately bring up her sword so he got off with a light gash. He clutched onto the cold metal of her gauntlets and transferred the momentum of her weight into flipping her over his head.

The sword went flying from her slack grip.

Hitting the deadly weapon known as the ground on her front, her body shook and froze, as if experiencing a reverberating sensation that locked up her muscles. Chiron didn't waste any time in pulling her left arm back, trapping the other, and hooking a leg around her knee.

As expected, she buckled instinctively, but found himself almost thrown off from her force. Grunting, he tried to increase the pressure put on her armor with his weight.

"Damn you!" She shouted and a [Mana Burst] launched them upward.

Instead of trying to throw him off to no avail; his weight and arm lock prevented it—she struck him into trees, falling one by one. He flinched on every impact until he was forced to release her.

How hard-headed. You would not be out of place among my pupils.

And she reared back to have her vengeance, by a decapitating slash. He fell into a back bridge and swung his legs into an upward kick as his hands pushed him over. One of his knees got her face. It meant a bruise later but now she tottered onto one knee.

Chiron stood upright before shuddering from a deep cut in his left arm. She must've severed a tendon, dangerously close to the bone, as he flipped away. I can't move my thumb and index finger. Nor do I possess the full power of my bow. He believed he could still draw it back, but he didn't want to risk from distance alone, he would not have enough space to heal or counterattack with one arm.

It looks like I've ended up being cornered instead…

His gaze shot to the sole entrance of the demolished clearing.

Another Servant? Grimacing at the visceral pain in his arm, Chiron drew back his bow carefully, arrow ready to pierce the newcomer. He licked his lips; either it was Ruler or a Red Servant, but if it was the latter, then he needed to retreat for tonight.

Saber of Red drew upright, still using her sword as a crutch.

A few seconds later, he was glad he waited. A flash of blond hair done in a braid and amethyst eyes greeted him.

Then another burst of crimson lightning raced for Ruler's head but she twirled it so that the lightning became redirected into the sky, fading out harmlessly. His gaze shot to Saber of Red and he was startled by her white face. Her mouth went slack as she stared at Ruler.

"Father…" she murmured.

But Ruler took precedence despite how odd that comment sounded.

"Ruler." Chiron lowered his bow. "I take it that you've come here to referee this battle?"

"Yes," she answered, stepping over ruined trees. "Thank the Lord; I was fortunate to have been in the area after escorting the homunculus."

"He's alright, then?"

"He had decided to live his life away from the Great Holy Grail War."

They smiled in relief, unheeding of Saber of Red for the moment until a choked noise took their attention.

"What the hell?" Chiron shot to Saber of Red, who muttered to herself. Was she receiving a command from her unseen Master? Her eyes flared in renewed anger. "Damn you," she sighed. "Alright."

"Saber of Red—" Ruler looked resigned and annoyed at the same time. Chiron couldn't blame her; when one's job kept getting interrupted, what was she to do?

Suddenly her armor melted away and the mana bolstering it went to her sword. Holding it in front of her with two hands, she activated it with a surge of vicious energy.

It could only mean a Noble Phantasm was about to be released. Maroon waves poured out from her body, starting from the sword.

He had sensed no weaknesses about Saber of Red but that Noble Phantasm of hers threw his senses into overdrive. Chiron had to blink a few times from the malicious waves her sword emitted.

So much hate for one person. Silver steel became blood red, warped and twisted from the beautiful knightly sword it had been a second ago. It was now a sword suited to fallen knights.

"I would say that I'm sorry about killing you, but I'm really not." She braced her feet on the floor.

Chiron felt an instinctive urge to shoot her but a sudden command spell could wipe him out. Nor could he flee without triggering one.

"I don't care for rules," she continued. "But I don't attack anyone unless they're asking for it. That's the only problematic thing about this situation, you see. You just happened to be the nearest target for my troubles today."

Ruler frowned, as if she was using her other privilege granted to her.

"Mordred. The Knight of Treachery," she muttered under her breath. "I understand it all now!"

The revelation of Saber of Red's True Name only agitated her, it seemed. But Chiron counted himself lucky that Ruler slipped up in the moment—Darnic and Vlad appreciated intel on the Red Faction in any form. "Well thanks for giving me a reason!"

"What exactly do you mean Saber of Red?" He called.

She glared but then she shifted to Ruler, and a raw anger hit her irises, turning them from a jade green to that of a murky swamp.

"Knight of Treachery, I beseech you!"

"That name is not yours to call!" She snarled. "Especially not by you!"

"Ah—but I haven't even encountered—"

"Enough of this already!" Saber of Red shouted. "Damn that shitty priest for this but at least I'll be taking someone's head tonight!"

Not if I have anything to say about this. You've forgotten about the other opponent. That is a fatal mistake, Saber.

His bow returned to spirit form.

"Priest?" Ruler muttered to herself before snapping to attention and started moving to avoid the Noble Phantasm Saber of Red was about to release.

"Clarent—"

Golden light crashed down from the heavens like retribution from the Gods of Olympus in many punishments. Chiron smiled wryly at that. He was the divine judge while Saber was the mortal challenger.

She only had a second to witness the light come for her head and raise her head in abrupt ignorance. Due to having been shot without further preparation, it couldn't pierce beyond a certain surface level, but it had to suffice for now.

Chiron just needed to redirect the mana input into something else.

Antares Snipe destroyed Saber of Red's left eye completely and her arms seized mid-raise.

Ruler's surprise was overturned quickly by her sharp look to him.

There is nothing wrong about trying to still fight during a Noble Phantasm's release, Chiron thought.

Sounds akin to a death rattle vanquished the shocked silence. Then she stumbled and what followed chilled his heart. In front of them, Saber of Red howled. Ruler started in dread as even she brought up her flag; she must be using preparing a Noble Phantasm of some sort.

But Chiron knew it wasn't a crushing loss that he heard. Saber of Red's cries was forged from unquenchable wrath and pain as she forced her arms down.

Caules is sending in Frankenstein—

"—Blood Arthur!" Mordred howled.

He cursed. Not nearly enough time!

Crimson lightning forged from a child who knew no love from a parent washed over the two. In a way, it was definitely lightning, but the majority of it took precedence as a curse. The Noble Phantasm's power was weakened by Antares Snipe; yet the full-brunt of Mordred's hate for her father still hit him in the torso. Before he was thrown back, he caught a glimpse of Ruler brandishing her flag swirling in a golden halo.

Chiron was thrown back like a bullet being released from its inner chamber. After six seconds, he laid in the wreckage of several trees a few miles away from the scene. Fiore fought to heal his gouged-open chest as he gasped for release the white-hot burns.

Chiron! Fiore's worried voice renewed his resolve to walk away from this fight. He couldn't allow the Black Faction to lose him too. Achilles remained alive and untested.

His torso remained a mess inside as he struggled upright, head pounding like it had seen one of his fellow centaurs' parties. It didn't matter if he won or lost: he needed to retreat. He was still a teacher and Fiore his student.

Blood trickled out as he tried to straighten his back. Muscles were slow to respond as he rubbed his forehead with a hand.

Good grief, Saber of Red.

"Archer of Black!" His vision still spun somewhat but he was able to see Ruler sprinting to him. She looked none the worse aside from breathing heavily

"Ruler." Chiron frowned as he stood up fully, not resorting to forming his bow again yet. "Is there something wrong?"

She nodded. "I believe Saber of Red is being distracted by your Berserker of Black, which gives me time to inform you my decision."

"And that is?" He narrowed his eyes. Jeanne d'Arc was trustworthy as an arbitrator, but he couldn't help the wariness.

"I will come with you to the Yggdmillennia fortress. I have to speak to the Master who participated in the Third Holy Grail War. This War is becoming abnormal since..." Ruler stopped at seeing his wince as a broken rib brushed against his core. Amethyst eyes widened. "...perhaps we'd better talk further when on secured grounds."

"Yes, that would be a good idea." They both smiled for at that, though Ruler's was more sheepish.

Chiron tested his legs and found them to be still working fine. "I will lead you back. Though I trust you not to harm anyone who has not attacked you first."

"Of course, you have my word."

"Then let us depart."

Master, Ruler is heading with us. Please notify Caules that Berserker can retreat after we pass the valley. Saber is too wounded to pursue past there.

Fiore's gasp became stifled by a cough, trying to regain her elegance. Ruler?! Archer...I'm worried for what this means, but Uncle Darnic will be pleased, though. Alright, I'll inform Caules. But Archer—Fiore stopped for minute, possibly talking to someone else.

Chiron tried not to dwell on her thinly-veiled desire to be on Darnic's good side. As the only person in Yggdmillennia who Darnic respected and trusted as a talented Magus, he expected her to become the clan head one day. But he knew this would lead to a twisted ending, one that Fiore had to stay away from.

Seriously, please don't push yourself. I think you used up three or five homunculi in healing the bare minimum. Jeez, that Saber is way too problematic!

I think you skipped over one. He regretted the way he had been forced to take their lives, but he and his wish remained at stake. Astolfo should be satisfied with that explanation.

Archer, I appreciate you and your wit, but please—

Yes, yes, Master.

Too unthinkable to leave any of his pupils without complete mentoring. Nor was it wrong to want all his pupils to excel.

—

For Assassin of Black's idea of hell to perfectly represent the one for Atalanta became a stroke of near-fatal misfortune for her and Karna.

Victorian London was the city of polluted mist. Never had the air been so poisoned, never had the people suffered in a place where it was impossible to feel pride. Each day was a struggle to stay alive. In the Whitechapel district, filth was the norm. Insects rejoiced in their environment. Factories continued to slug away at filling the air with tanned leather and processed meat.

And how could there be pride? In a time, a district, where young girls sold their bodies to hungry men, forced to don gaudy makeup and low-cut clothes. The structure of the Whitechapel district was so unrelenting, that people born there are filth and die as filth. Furthermore, divided into the two categories: "weak victim" and "assailant who transcended humanity in savagery", are the options people have. Saving money had no use when all you could do was spend it for immediate release from this dreary hell.

Indeed, it was hell.

Children, there are so many children living in this hell. So many children.

They are dead, in spirit and body. They're too young to understand that there is no love in this world. But they had to known by now. Otherwise, how will they scrape by in this hell?

No. That's wrong. There's definitely love here. There has to be. But I can't call out to them. I want to help, I want to save you all, and yet my body won't move.

That was the last of her hunting instinct that kept her from falling into despair with them.

The children that had been steadily appearing in like a pack of sharks on the prowl turned their attention to her.

I'll save you! I'll save you! I was abandoned just like you all in the past. I was saved from that fate! The joy of that, the happiness of that, I'll bestow it you all—

Though her paralyzed throat wouldn't let her express her earnest wishes in physical form, she pleaded with them from all of her heart. Surely, even such a pure wish like mine can reach everyone without words!

The children approached her, unrelenting in their blank facades. Cold, inhuman, eyes met hers.

Unknown to her, her feet stepped back in hidden disgust but the closest grabbed her arms.

"Join us." They all opened their mouths in perfect synchronization, in empty voices.

Somehow one entered her skin like a child taking comfort in their mother's hair. Another one grabbed her legs, penetrating her blood vessels. More penetrated her nerves, bones, organs, muscles, brain…

Atalanta screamed. It wasn't fear that tainted her heart, tormenting and taking her back to the time when she had been abandoned by a careless father, but by the despair of the children and herself—

—she curled herself in a ball, on this cold unforgiving cobblestone. Seeking warmth that wouldn't come for eons.

It didn't come for at least a few minutes, but she had no real way of knowing, in this place where time was not a "concept".

The only sound was that of the children's inane mutterings, filling her mind with further despair and tormenting.

Feet drummed against the cobblestone.

"Archer!" Atalanta slowly raised her head to see Karna jogging over to her.

He looked unharmed but Atalanta knew he had to be reeling, like her, inside.

"Lancer...I…" words refused to follow through, as the children's whisperings rose at his appearance.

Atalanta's limbs felt like lead as she took his hand, pulling her up. Her mouth shook and trembled as she forced it open. She wanted to say so much to him but her brain rejected attempts at sanity. Soon, she understood the cause.

Under his light coat of sweat, the faint smell of burnt bodies reached her nostrils and she recoiled. He didn't seem to have noticed it, instead being distracted by a scream that rose from a dark corner to the side. Her heart already knew what lied there in waiting. Karna disappeared into the alleyway where fainter noises continued to echo out while Atalanta shuddered, clutching her arm.

Don't leave me alone—please—

"—you should take my cape." He emerged from the alleyway, visibly disconcerted. "It will protect you when I'll be banishing these phantasms."

What? Atalanta's brain was sluggish in connecting the dots. He is not afraid. He is not drowning in sorrows. He is. Not.

"Lancer…Karna…" Atalanta whispered. "You're…you're not with me?" Her voice rose tall with her anger. "Can't you see what is happening?!"

But you just witnessed the depravity that these children were subjected.

He wants to hurt us hurt us hurt us hurt us.

"My eyes are still intact." Karna's response was full of ease. "I am only informing you of what the option is."

"By Artemis—don't let your apathy take precedence here!"

Atalanta started dragging in short, desperate breaths. Her lungs were on fire and were about to explode from the building pressure of what Karna just said.

"What use...what use is a hero if we can't even save these children?! Then what about the meaning of justice and valor if you kill them?" She pleaded with him, though a part of her knew it to be a lost cause.

"We will have to carry on, Atalanta." Karna came closer and laid a warm hand on her shoulder. "These are not the children you believe them to be." Though his face and posture showed he had nothing but sympathy for her, Atalanta didn't understand. And it wasn't the way he could never learn to mince his words.

She couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend what the Lancer just told her. She. Would. Not.

"You want to kill these children…?" Atalanta's jaw squeezed together and her voice wavered in shame. "We are heroes! There surely must be something we can figure out! Anything that we can do—if we cannot, then we are failures!"

He lowered his gaze. But not out of shame for his plan, she realized. For that she would be incredibly anguished for their sake. The ghosts' mutterings became louder, gleeful, as if they condemned him for his silent confirmation.

That shame came from being abandoned to a forest because she wasn't good enough, so she had to prevent other children from suffering the same cruel upbringing she experienced. Who was she then if she could not be allowed this one thing?

Atalanta froze upon a rising, dark thought.

There was one avenue left. If that is what it takes. But Karna is my comrade at worst, friend at best, right?

He is not, he is not he is not he is not, the children murmured in her ear. He is going to kill us, he is going to kill us. A cacophony of pitiful tones from toddlers rose into a wail.

Save us, save us save us save us.

He had been silent as she agonized over whether to deploy it.

After a moment, that of which she couldn't guess in this place, he finally lifted his head. Soft blue irises held her darkening green ones.

"Death is the only solution they have. It is cruel to let them be as they are." Even his voice turned soft. "Atalanta, for what it is worth, I am truly sorry."

Karna braced his feet, smashing cobblestone underneath by forming the golden spear. Atalanta flinched from the sound and her heart's thumping swelled until she heard nothing but pleading children and the adrenaline crushing her heart under the weight of her childhood.

Then the ocean of turmoil stopped, leaving an arid mind. She thought of how Artemis saved her from a life in the forest, barely living as a person.

These children don't have a single opportunity. Not even a chance.

Karna is taking it from them.

He won't let them try to live.

He won't let me carry out what I want.

He has been my friend for a few days.

These children won't...

"I won't let you." She formed a pelt made of blackened fur splotched by a poisonous purple. "I won't let you, I won't let you I won't let you take salvation away from these children!"

Karna's eyes flashed in surprise as he plucked his spear to guard himself.

"I'll save these children from the true villains standing before my eyes!"

"Wait—"

"Noble Phantasm!" Atalanta shoved the pelt of the Calydonian Boar into her chest to where her spiritual core rested. As the dark aura swirled around her, shifting her into the beast of calamities, she finished calling its True Name: "Agrius Metamorphosis!"

The last of her sanity bled away.

She was an eldritch beast of rage and pain.

What happens to her form didn't matter anymore. Becoming a monster to save children didn't disgust her. It wasn't as if she could complain under the influence of A-Rank Mad Enhancement, as more a Berserker than an Archer.

She screamed for the lost children and for herself as her mind melted into a demonic beast bent on killing the Lancer before her.

—

Atalanta landed on him and he fell backward, grunting from her newfound strength. Blood dripped onto his cheek as she snapped at him but he had thrown up his spear as a barrier.

Karna wrestled the unhinged Archer away from him with more than a little trouble.

"An increase in her parameters…"

Wiping her blood from his face, he spun the spear against a maelstrom of blackened arrows full of magical energy. Kavacha and Kundala reduced all attacks from the outside naturally to one-tenth of its original value. However, the mana upkeep was torturous and since it was nearly always active, Karna couldn't afford to stall.

Like Atalanta would let him, regardless.

"Atalanta, please." He tried reasoning with her after he was thrown into several buildings by the leg, but a guttural "Tauropolos!" was his answer.

Again, the maelstrom went on. Black arrows infused in pure energy rained everywhere. Karna recognized it as a bastardized form of Phoebus Catastrophe sharpened by hate for him.

He, the killer of unloved children.

"You are no Hero of Charity if you cannot grant these children their wishes to be saved! Therefore...disappear!"

"I cannot grant their request if they are not able to reap the benefits fully, as ashes. Nor am I the correct person for this," He refuted. "You would need Servant Ruler. A saint could purge them without further harm."

They fell on deafened ears.

Her growls and roars rose into the arias of a beast in the midst of a roaring rampage of revenge. Gone were her swift and minimal movements. She swung from side to side like a heavy drinker after returning at dawn, eyes glowing from visceral anger. Atalanta lacked the grace, with that A-Rank [Mad Enhancement] in effect. It was like she had become a Berserker willingly.

Karna understood it.

Tauropolos's color soon followed her demonic pelt. Now it was a instrument of divine punishment, not a blessed weapon graced by the goddess she swore to. He couldn't help but twist his jaw at the sight. Sympathy poured out from his heart. Atalanta was a noble hunter.

To force her into the type of brutal Greek warriors she abhorred is unforgivable.

She spat, "Then how can you call yourself a Heroic Spirit?"

Karna furrowed his brows not from her accusation but as to how he was to rid her of the influence from Assassin's ghosts. With [Discernment of the Poor], after a few rounds of her using Tauropolos as a bludgeon against him, he determined the source. Ducking under a wide swing, he fell into a back handspring to give him room.

Atalanta's right arm: whose shoulder was covered by a black boar's head with dripping ichor, was black as night even under the pelt. He wasn't sure if his flames could erase it, but dispelling this mental world could bring it closer to an exorcism courtesy of Shirou. There was no time to dwell on the possibilites—Karna would just have to force her to stop using Agrius Metamorphosis for now.

A howl tore out of her throat again as she charged him. Karna batted her back with a strong kick to the stomach. She disappeared into the canal, stunned. Eerily reminiscent of when mother cats carry their kittens by the scruff.

Having to fight her gave him a great deal of exasperation. It wasn't from the fact that he couldn't kill her. Far from it, indeed. All of his negative emotions was directed at the whole issue, that Atalanta was possessed and influenced by Assassin of Black's leftover specters. There was no problem with having friends turn on him or backstabs from parlaying enemies; he had experienced plenty of that in his life. Karna was resigned to facing it at least once every time he was summoned. No point in mulling over "why?" repeatedly.

He was going to have to pin her down using force. Dealing harm was the only solution. Taking in her bat-like wings, he inhaled deeply, lungs refusing to cooperate.

Again she came up screaming in her hate and despair. Atalanta scaled the walls, dripping, and bolted for him again.

"I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you for their sake!"

He jumped forward and tackled her onto the ground. Surprised by his action, she went limp for a second under his frame. Karna ruthlessly plunged the spear into her wings so both were pinned to the floor. She screeched and heaved as she tried to get up.

But she was immobilized and he wrestled his cape over her body until it swallowed her.

"O Agni," he intoned solemnly. The spear burned like his own miniature sun formed of red light and orange flames. "Let this part of history disappear from the world." Taking in the silent children around the edges of their battlefield, he added: "Go swiftly to the Throne of Heroes and let your regrets burn here forever."

[Mana Burst]: Flames spiraled everywhere till nothing was untouched by his divine fire.


	6. Chapter 5

Mordred understood the temptation to cry as a catharsis, a means to finish the job. An extra measure to flush out the gushing rage after Clarent Blood Arthur. But she didn't care. Knights don't cry.

They stride forward with their sword and horse toward the sun.

A sudden thought hit her—Berserker of Black's lightning disrupted something in her. After some time chewing the meat, the memory came to her easily after she stared at her burning hands.

"Again," Morgan hisses deep into her ear.

And again, Mordred hurls lightning toward the crimson sky toward the setting sun. Her hands are on fire and smells like a corpse burning. Charred flesh ebbs back into fresh skin when Morgan heals it.

She does not cry. Hasn't cried since the first few times she practiced. The first time she had screamed but then Morgan slapped her until she stopped. Now intangible tears of silent rage cascade.

Mordred is better than this. It is not enough and the both of them know it.

Morgan called it a lightning flower. A gift. A testament to her bravery. Proof of her achievements. But Mordred knew better than to fall for the sweet lies again.

In life fractal scars crisscrossed all over her hands to the point where she had to keep gloves on to perform daily tasks. Ever since she learned to control the crimson lightning, she lost sensation there. But it only made her more determined to grasp what little she had left. After becoming a Heroic Spirit, they faded into her skin but whenever her [Mana Burst] was utilized, they blossomed back into existence.

They stood pale against sweaty, flushed skin.

Berserker of Black's odd lightning felt so wrong, as if she was an animated corpse. And it was devoid, lifeless, and disgusting. Mordred wasn't that proud of her lightning being formed because of visceral hatred for that witch instead of hard work, but at least it roared in passion. No matter how marred it was.

So damn empty.

Some of the enemy Servant's lightning had mingled with hers as she appeared via command spell. Shortly after that, Mordred was introduced to her weapon and what blunt force did to armor.

Misshapen steel barely covered her torso anymore. Had more Black Servants showed up, she might actually lose; if she took more of those hits, her armor will eventually give way. No more Servants would come looking unless they wanted to start the final battle. But she didn't let her escape without returning the blow.

Mordred rammed Clarent into her arm right before Berserker of Black retreated. She might be forced to let her go, but she'll be damned if they think it weakened her fighting spirit.

"Damn you Archer!" She shouted once Berserker of Black retreated. "Next time I'll rip your head off with my hands!"

He probably didn't hear it but it made her feel better.

Breathing deeply, armor gave way to a leather jacket and jeans.

It was a miracle that she formed her armor after getting over the shocks of Clarent Blood Arthur. Every time she used it, it rendered her immobile for a few fatal seconds. But afterward...it was the calmest aftermath, something she hadn't felt since before she confessed her identity to Father.

Mordred hated it. She hated it so much that her teeth almost drew blood from the force exerted in her mouth.

That hate she clenched to gave her will to move forward one step at a time. Otherwise, she never would've put herself through the trials of a second life.

(Was I not good enough for you?)

My price to pay for having to use part of the reason for my moniker, she thought bitterly.

(Why didn't Father love me?)

"Why?" she groaned to herself and winced, finally reminded of the first injury in the Holy Grail War.

(Even at the very end, you were like a machine).

None of her ribs had been broken by Archer of Black's wrestling—Sagittarius or whatever, she realized after seeing the constellation move aside for his Noble Phantasm. Only her eye.

"Ow." She wiped the leaking blood from her cheek. "Fuck."

Kairi's mana worked at a punishing pace. Blood continued to drip from her socket and she hissed every time it throbbed, pulsing in time with the tides. It hadn't gone beyond the surface and her spiritual core was intact. Sight would be a problem, but she had two to three days to fix it.

After a moment, she muttered curses.

(A youthful face marred by perfection).

Mordred was going to have to take a quick breather before returning to Karna and Atalanta. Her hands still felt unresponsive and she didn't want any questions. At least until the eyeball comes back, she decided. Additionally, she needed to recover what mana lingered her for other purposes. She sat down on a ruined log with a troubled sigh and shifted to the civilian outfit. At least they definitely didn't have any problems with that lowlife Assassin of Black.

Still, Ruler...Jeanne d'Arc. Her hands clenched again; she felt just like Father. She had no idea how to feel about it. Initially Shirou's order pissed her off because no one told her what to do except for her Master at worst. Ruler was not to be messed with—even a rebel like her understood that much. Those extra command spells were reason enough. At the same time, perhaps the reason why Mordred lost any reservations about murdering this lookalike was due to revealing her True Name.

And hearing that come from a lookalike...it was like facing Father's judgement again. She couldn't comprehend Ruler's non-accusatory tone with the anger surging in her veins back then.

"I need to be the better man." She held her clenched fists in front of her. "And pissing off the priest in the process is a bonus."

Mordred sighed again, trying to clear her thoughts. They contradicted each other even after she declared it out loud.

She slumped forward on the log. If she got caught up in that anger again, she'd definitely murder Ruler. Mordred couldn't. She just couldn't have it happen again.

"She is not Father, she is not Father, she is not King Arthur."

Mordred couldn't allow anyone else to be dragged into the crossfire of the Knight of Treachery's inglorious legend. As king, she needed to take responsibility for her actions. Especially someone who isn't even in the way. Unlike Arthur, she'll face the consequences, good or bad. She'll confront the truth instead of running away.

"...She is Jeanne d'Arc. French, you idiot."

(If you draw that sword, you'll meet a terrible end).

—

[Mana Burst]: Flames activated for thirty-four seconds to leave no spot untouched. Though the denizens' screams were harsh in their sudden pain, they disappeared to find salvation in the afterlife. The world created by Jack the Ripper simmered and bent under the force of his divine flames before returning them to the deserted streets of Sighisoara.

"Urgh…"

Sinking onto his knees, he had to hold his side with a hand and the other for support from his spear. Only his will kept him from passing out and keeping Kundala and Kavacha active.

That [Mana Burst]: Flames left one-third of his reserves left; not even taking into account of his Master's. At first, he did use that mana but it dried up like water tends to do in the desert. Only for the initial push—concern for his Master's well-being needed to be considered even if Atalanta's sanity stayed at risk.

And his spiritual core itself: strained like a washcloth put to use in a stable.

"Hah…"

All he could do was breathe as daggers scraped his lungs. Each breath brought him back to his former condition, however slow and searing it was. His head dipped lower; it was selfish of him, but all he wanted was to lay down and rest for a month. But he forced his blurry eyes to check on his fellow Servant.

Blinking furiously, fallen sweat went past his eyes and fell in rivulets onto shattered cobblestone. Relief refreshed his recovering mind and he lowered his head again. Moving it had taken too much of what energy he had left.

Atalanta laid unconscious next to him as Agrius Metamorphosis melted off her body, becoming verdant. Small tears fell from her anguished face, as if she was walking in a nightmare even now. With [Mad Enhancement] and Assassin of Black gone, he believed that she could assess the situation with a clearer head. Though he had no idea if it was possible for her to move on; he recognized that for a Heroic Spirit dependent on a wish like hers and being forced to face the cause, well...it was close to irreversible damage.

And that decided it for him. In any case, I am the agitator and I should remove myself from her recovery. I will have to count on Achilles and Mordred to finish this for me. And yet, it is only my fault should they refuse and compel me into taking on their supposed roles.

Karna lifted his head. Something rustled.

Like a corpse reanimating, Atalanta stood up in an ungainly fashion, twitching. He winced—he couldn't move out of the way. His own body was weighed down by mind-crushing fatigue.

"Karna." Atalanta howled and tackled him.

He gasped as his stomach rolled from a torrent of nausea. They crashed into the nearest building. Debris fell on them in waves, obscuring his vision for a brief moment. Atalanta's bare hands bore down on his shoulders with a strength not unlike a certain Pandava he remembered.

Her thirst for a scapegoat hasn't been quenched. Karna felt no ill-will toward her; it was natural she should be like this.

Kavacha and Kundala kept him barely intact—enough mana to be active for a few more minutes—as she threw her weight against him, pinning him down. But instead of trying to remove his limbs one by one, Karna felt his face become layered with tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Atalanta sobbed as she buried her face in his shoulder, tears soaking his skin. "I...am a...failure…"

Instantly, Karna hugged her as close as he could. He felt it was the best he could do now, since Achilles or Mordred wasn't present. It is probably what they would do—he tried to imitate as best as he could. "You're wrong," he said, surprising himself with the fierceness in his voice. "What happened was merely a mental attack on your psyche. You needn't cry over these children. Even if they suffered at the end, it was only from my divine flames." Karna rested his chin on her head, suddenly exhausted from talking. Harsh fatigue crushed his spiritual core bur Atalanta took precedence. "I am sure that they have moved on from that hell."

Atalanta muttered something through her tears but he wasn't sure of her words. Her tears didn't stop but nor did they increase. Karna sighed from his exhaustion and sympathy for Atalanta. His arms tightened and they remained like that for some time until he sensed Mordred's signature approaching. She disengaged from what must be a warm haven and wiped the tears from her eyes. He actually felt comfortable like that as well—no one exactly ever doled out physical affection to him.

"...thank you." she said before Mordred entered the vicinity. "I won't forget this."

"This was merely something done for a friend; we are comrades, Atalanta. Instead, I would rather you not forget what I told you."

"...I will try." Atalanta didn't look wholly convinced but he had leave it aside for now. If he pushed, her opinion of him may lower, as he would appear trying to force his way of thinking onto hers.

Trying not to bite his lips in disbelief, Karna nodded but then they did a double-take at Mordred. Her lack of an eye startled him before he went ahead and assessed her condition. It was a clean cut—or hit. Precise like an archer hitting the bull's eye. Mana fibers threaded themselves around her socket in a soft blue aura.

"Yo." She waved with the hand that wasn't in her jacket. Was the other injured? The visible one shook and stiffened every few seconds.

"Mordred," he acknowledged, after she squinted at him, waiting for a response.

"Well...Archer ran away like the damn coward he is," she said, disgruntled. "Urgh...can't believe I'm admitting it but he's got finesse in wrestling. I'll give him that and my sword for decapitation."

Karna tried not to sigh at her unperturbed attitude toward her regenerating eye. Though Atalanta's concern was present by rubbing leaking blood off much to Mordred's discomfort as she tried to wriggle away, there was a sort of distilled consciousness to her.

When Mordred stopped wriggling, he could feel the question forming on her lips.

"Hey—didn't the priest say Assassin of Black was a rogue Servant or whatever?"

"Yes."

"...I don't understand why it was over this quick," she murmured as Atalanta stepped away, satisfied.

The blood was gone except for residual leakage.

"Indeed. It has been only half an hour, give or take," Atalanta remarked. "Perhaps it is because she erred."

"Erred? How?" Mordred asked.

"Assassin of Black might have assumed one of us to have been a Black Servant. Otherwise I doubt she would had allowed her Master to venture out with her tonight," Karna answered.

"Heh. There's no use in questioning the dead." Mordred shook her head and a smirk graced her lips. "Anyway, so, about Archer of Black—wrestled around in the forest before Ruler showed up—"

Karna had his own reservations about fighting the arbitrator but orders were orders, and he was still a soldier. However, if orders proved to be rescinded or if something else demanded his attention, then he would consider disobeying. In any case, he supposed the elimination of Ruler was to be in preparation of a future rule-breaking plan, hasty it may be.

Mordred's voice darkened. "—and the priest just gave me more of a reason to distrust him. Tried to use my Noble Phantasm to kill her but my eye was destroyed by that damn Archer. He must've used his before mine could activate."

"Do you have any idea what it was?" Atalanta queried, rubbing her arm.

"Nah. Just that it was like a shooting star." Mordred grimaced. "Like, directly from the sky."

"What about his appearance?"

"I think I saw something like a horse...tail." As she said it, it dawned on them.

Few Heroic Spirits had legends relating to becoming a horse, or equine traits—that Karna knew. There was also Atalanta's animalistic tendencies and her ears and tail. It would be easier to pinpoint her possible legend to Greek mythology, where divine punishment through metamorphosis was not uncommon.

When people thought of centaurs, their minds went to the great sage and teacher of many famous Greek heroes.

"Chiron." "Sagittarius!" Atalanta and Mordred said simultaneously. She sighed while Mordred whooped.

"He had a human appearance though," She added.

"I will inform Achilles about this later. But Archer bypassing Andreias Amarantos because he is the son of Kronos makes more sense than any other conjecture." Atalanta rubbed her arm again, wincing.

They both noted the black splotches embedded in her pale skin where the gauntlet couldn't cover it up.

"Uh..." Mordred glanced between the two.

Karna felt it prudent to bring up the subject of Shirou exorcising it. Atalanta eyed him warily. Mordred made a "huh?" and opened her mouth again but closed it at Atalanta's quiet reply.

"...are you sure?"

"He desires the Grail, so there is no use in letting any chances shrink by benching a Red Servant."

"Very well then."

Turning to Mordred, he gave her the rundown on what happened and Atalanta's reason for obtaining the Grail.

She remained silent for all of seven seconds as it hit her—and started boasting to Atalanta about how she was going to mow down the Black Faction so she didn't have to exert herself as much. Atalanta sighed in exasperation but the weariness left her eyes. A child like Jack the Ripper couldn't accept her wish, but a child like Mordred certainly did.

Karna smiled softly as he shifted to his civilian outfit, instantly feeling more comfortable as Kavacha and Kundala deactivated for now. The Knight of Treachery's disposition surprised him, having shown strong loyalty for her Master and concern for Atalanta's well-being. He believed that she would continue to do the opposite of her title, since otherwise, he would have intervened between them if she decided to torment Atalanta instead.

—

"I must admit," Shakespeare started. Semiramis pierced him with a disgruntled stare, daring him to say anything obnoxious of the sort. "To think Father Kotomine would go ahead and collect the command spells now...is concerning."

"In what way?" Semiramis felt like humoring him for the most part. "He informed me that after having a dream of Rider's rage, it forced him to go ahead and move up the plans. Who wouldn't after seeing a world-threatening tantrum?"

"Oh, yes, there is that—and I am not so certain it is merely a 'tantrum'. But to take it now before we take the Grail with the other Red Servants occupied, heightens the chance of failure."

"Hmph. They'll be too busy sticking together and never acting on their suspicions. Unless, they have a reason to act on it which you may inadvertently do so."

He placed a hand over his heart reflexively. She huffed and turned her head.

"Still, I am in awe of your ability to concoct such strong potions quickly." He paused, as if uncertain for once. "...though I didn't expect him to already...be...intoxicated."

She coughed. "Er...to think the great Achilles is actually a lightweight is something that happens in distant dreams, but the possibility never occurred to me. Not even taking in his C-Rank Magic Resistance, of course."

"Yes!" A gleaming light formed in his eyes, and she could already feel the migraine coming on. "For such a word-renowned hero as Achilles, any flaws must be of the manly sort. For example, he may be virile—but for the fairer sex exclusively. And, taking in those who view him as a pursuer of both, he must be be the erastes, never the eromenos. All in all, he must be dominant in bed and battle."

"And what is it that you wrote to strike discord in him?"

"In Troilus and Cressida, that rendition of Achilles pursued peace! Perhaps that is why he was so eager to engage in a fist fight with me."

"Or maybe, the not-so-subtle insinuations between him and that Trojan Prince."

Semiramis suspected he had unresolved tension with many males of his time of the sexual kind.

"Ah, yes. There is...that," Shakespeare said sheepishly. "'Tis a blessing from Father Kotomine's interference that I escaped with my face intact."

She wouldn't have minded it going the other way. Amakusa Shirou had to get between him and Shakespeare, using offers of fine wine to dissuade Achilles. But Shakespeare needed to have sense beaten into him.

Achilles lounged about at the table near the window sill bench where he had been reading that odd play earlier in laughter. Shakespeare continued to write down several notes on a laptop that Amakusa Shirou procured for him the other day, eyes never leaving Achilles's reddening face. The cause was clear: more and more alcohol went down his throat Semiramis brewed a few hours ago in preparation, tailored to his preferences.

Instead of joining them, she sat on a comfortable divan with decidedly books of the novel kind.

"—and then Aias ripped the guy's head off before claiming those kittens for himself—wasn't even there to see it…" Achilles's face flushed even more as he teetered over the precipice. "...I think Odysseus told me that it was to be a gift for someone...can't rememberrrrr," he groaned.

"Oh! I see, I see—please carry on!" Shakespeare doubled down on the keyboard. His coat shifted on the chair's back as he stretched his posture before hunching over to work to the bone.

It's almost pitiful how easily he sank for it. While Amakusa Shirou hasn't exactly done anything wrong yet, the suspicion was justly placed on him on fact of being the sole supporter. Atalanta, Karna, and Achilles would obey his orders but keep misgivings to themselves—where Mordred would just make her annoyance known, as the chances of rebellion spiked.

But Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm worked finely.

The Globe: The King's Men. One of Shakespeare's Noble Phantasms, one of the few attributes about him that Semiramis tolerated. Like many of his actors that he turned into the mischievous Puck or the iron lady Macbeth, he spun two simple wooden puppets into perfect copies of Amakusa Shirou and her. She didn't leave the library to attend to the rest of the Hanging Gardens, as she wanted to ensure Achilles remained inebriated as long as possible. It definitely wasn't out of concern for him and Shakespeare being alone. She was just covering her bases in case Shakespeare tried to do something debilitating to one of the Red Faction's trump cards.

An unscrupulous man like Caster is not to be left to his devices unless actively working on that weapon for our Master…

Out of all the Red Servants she distrusted him the most. The rest were simple heroes that she understood in a heartbeat. Karna was slightly more difficult but he was a paragon of honor and loyalty in the end. And that was all that mattered to her.

She refrained from heaving a sigh, observing from a couch near the entrance. Even she had her misgivings about how obsessive he was with figuring out every Heroic Spirit's flaws. It wasn't like he could compose plays with the Holy Grail War afoot.

As for his Noble Phantasm, it was ridiculously useful—perhaps too useful. When subordinates excel at their job, it is natural; when subordinates start gaining a head too high for their shoulders and decide to put their skills to use in a different direction...that is where Semiramis had to disagree with Amakusa Shirou. But she had faith in his lack of knowledge regarding her legend and her will eclipsed his petty tendencies at setting up needless drama. Of course, she never would've become the Assyrian Empress if she possessed even a slightly-less hardy will. Otherwise she would've given up after being taken from Onnes.

Her finger hovered over the page's corner, as she detected an odd instinct-like urge to listen. Semiramis's breathing slowed in anticipation. She angled her eyes upward, enough to seem like she's still engaged in her book.

"Eventually, I will carve your story into writing. Therefore, I ask a question of you for the genre. Shall it be a comedy or a tragedy?"

"It's my life. Any interpretation is fine—as long as it isn't like Troilus and Cressida. The idea of me supporting peace is too much—I was there to fight and become a hero!" Achilles suddenly moaned and let go of the beer pitcher, and slowly rested his forehead against the table. He mumbled, "But, well..." silence and confusion followed, as he lapsed into contemplation, against the silliness of his drunkenness.

Semiramis could feel the whiplash herself as he slammed his palms on the table, in some sort of epiphany and looked up hastily.

"Make it a comedy—so ridiculous it makes people cry from laughter. In fact, dying because only my heel is human and it was shot with by an arrow is already far beyond ridiculous!" With that Achilles burst into hearty laughter. He might as well be laughing off the possible regrets he had in The Iliad.

Shakespeare's smile vanished, his face startlingly blank and thinking hard. Many of her thoughts took a turn for the worse—her fingers dug into the pages, almost tearing it in her distaste. Should I intervene on Rider's behalf—he wouldn't appreciate such a thing...and he would realize that the alcohol I brewed is purposely intoxicating. What to do, indeed.

But Semiramis was taken from the scene as a dove landed on a lamp near her. Holding out a hand, it hopped onto her offered perch, tweeting its information.

Having been nursed by these doves since she was abandoned by her mother, they remained friends long after she grew up. Like remote decoys, her divinity—the only gift from her mother—allowed her to direct them with her thoughts. Tracking magical energy, especially Servants, was child's play.

"What has that dove said to you to make your beautiful face become so creased and annoyed?"

"You may stop posturing for it is of little interest to me." Semiramis smoothed down a stray feather before it left through the window. "Ruler has apparently decided to depart from the church she took up residence in."

"Does that mean she is wandering about, now? That is reckless, but it can only mean she has absolute confidence."

She twisted her lips into a sneer.

"How opportunistic. I am not opposed to sending Rider out to finish Lancer's job." Semiramis had been in a foul mood for some time after he returned. He didn't even have the courtesy to kill Saber of Black while he was at it—not that it mattered now, but it was the principle itself.

But a sudden slump discarded that option for her. Achilles melted off his chair, having fallen asleep after Shakespeare paused, and onto the floor. His face was surprisingly youthful without his liveliness present. He was only twenty-five when he died if I recall correctly; common for fateful heroes. Sprawled on his back, he probably wouldn't wake up for an hour or so. Semiramis placed enough tranquilizer to lure him from safety without alerting him.

Another dove replaced the one who flew off, dropping off unpleasant news.

"What?!" Astonished, she couldn't help but exclaim from the news. And for a good reason too. She gritted her teeth as Shakespeare stopped.

This is far from a Pyrrhic victory but this leaves us less wiggle room than I'd prefer.

"Lancer and Assassin has killed Assassin of Black but evidently, it appears Archer had gone berserk after a mist covered Sighisoara. Something led to Lancer burning through his mana while the cause of Archer's sudden craze was a Noble Phantasm. They fought briefly after the mist lifted and yet they are not retreating already." The dove was replaced by another but waited. "I do hope it is to confirm the enemy Servant's death."

Shakespeare muttered possible circumstances under his breath, approaching it like many of his plays. His enthusiasm infringed on her nerves.

Disgusting. Semiramis stared at him for a brief moment, speculating the odds of how much trouble they'd be in if she eliminated him.

Sighing, she continued. "And Saber engaged with Archer of Black. Though neither were defeated, they dealt severe wounds to each other." Semiramis paused at the dove's report for Mordred's status. "...Saber's eye was destroyed by a beam of light originating from the sky."

"How amazing! Like out of that new genre; science-fiction I learned the other day." Shakespeare's energy surged as he left the table in a whirl of sudden energy and joined her on the couch, looking at her expectantly.

Semiramis strained herself trying not to hurt him. Concentrating on her breathing worked wonders.

"It seems that Archer of Black didn't have to say his Noble Phantasm's True Name to activate it," Semiramis said after trying to get over his enthusiasm. "My doves say the light came from the sky, like a shooting star of a sorts."

"He might be a Heroic Spirit related to a constellation." Shakespeare jotted down notes on a pad he manifested after sitting next to her. "You can inquire more information from Sir Mordred when they return."

"Heaping all of that responsibility onto me, speaks volumes of your wish to retire from this gathering so soon."

"...but I do have other work to complete," Shakespeare muttered petulantly. She twitched. "After all, he wants to take part in the War at least once? And who am I to deny him?" His voice became sharper, like a sword that lost its rust after time and effort.

"..." Semiramis glanced at him with a slightly open mouth. "I don't agree with Shirou's decision...but it is what he wants. Very well, as a monarch, I graciously accept this task you pushed onto me. Be warned Caster, that I will tolerate no less than the highest for this weapon you are constructing for him, in return."

"Oh! I would never disappoint you!"

She allowed herself a quick facepalm before mulling over the Black Faction. Archer, Rider, Lancer, Caster, and Berserker were the only Servants left. But she wanted to sow more discord...and there, a small idea took root.

"Caster of Black. He used golems when he subjugated Spartacus, did he not?" Semiramis's mind ripped apart the Black Faction like a serving of fruit, searching for the one with the most potential.

It remained a small hunch, but he was a man who distrusted humanity. Speaking in a dispassionate voice, Semiramis noted that through her doves, it unnerved Rider and Archer of Black as he and Lancer of Black conversed about Spartacus. A golemancer who remained an enigmatic figure. He might be of use then, a tool to be discarded after appropriately sowing discord within the enemy ranks.

"Correct—may I ask why?"

"You may. Are you familiar with the saying 'scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours?' A problem child for a problem child may be favorable for the both of us."

Shakespeare blinked, gears in his eyes running overtime to figure her out. He can learn a thing or two about humility. It is royalty alone, that has the privilege to be above such unnecessary things.

"Wouldn't the idiom 'an eye for an eye' be more suitable?" He said, sly smirk forming.

She returned her own sweet smile, properly poisonous.

"If you understand my proposal then there is no idea to suggest a replacement."

"That is true. [Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt]."

"And here I thought you could actually manage to finish a conversation without self-quoting. Well, it is no matter. Complaining about it is like saying the sun is too bright. But I believe humanity has created some form of protection...I should like to procure some for myself. Since you need no further help, I shall thankfully, leave your presence, to inform Shirou." Semiramis stood up.

"—and perhaps, you may find a solution now!"

She stopped mid-walk and glanced over her shoulder to witness one of his devious smirks.

"Caster, this had better not be one of your tricks." Semiramis raised an arm as means of emphasis.

"This time I don't mean to pull your leg! Though I'd like to…" the last part was muttered.

"I'll forgive you for that remark if you explain before I puncture you with something more tangible." Her gaze went back to the door pointedly.

"Right. Ahem—I ask a favor of you: will you concoct some more of that alcohol you used earlier on Rider?"

She refused to look back over her shoulder. Twisting her mouth, Semiramis examined the door-frame's design in consideration. Similar to vines, protruding white branches crawled over each other in a bid for the knob.

Had this been a normal Grail War, then undoubtedly, Achilles and Semiramis would have been the first to battle. There was a fatal lack of understanding—and cooperation—between them. Broadminded Achilles and regal Semiramis, they were the antithesis of each other. And if he ever attempted to assassinate her in the Hanging Gardens, he would die. She had an equal rank in [Divinity]. That was why she had no qualms about using it when Amakusa Shirou decided to take the command spells now.

But, an odd hesitation refused to budge in her mind. Shakespeare lived for drama, the imbecile, so for a man like Achilles whose life belongs to him and him only, the playwright would take offense from that. Using all of his mastery of his language, he could probably even expose the holes in Achilles's scorching life. Perhaps another aim rested—to make everyone who doesn't regret anything, suffer and understand.

That would be one of the greatest accomplishments for him. To move Heroic Spirits leaps and bounds above him and bring them down—no, even lower than him. Nevertheless, Shakespeare has risen to the top of her list.

Semiramis was thankful that as a Heroic Spirit, she possessed no weakness in her psyche—aside from her Master, of course. She would not deny that she was fond of him and his wish to the point of wanting to see both outcomes of failure or success. Against Shakespeare's new motives, she would protect him even against his choices if necessary.

She chose her words, careful not to let her hesitancy show. "If there is some leisure time before we advance to Yggdmillennia's fields, then I will concoct some more."

"Truly you are most magnanimous—" and he launched into another spiel.

She left quickly.

Semiramis noted to herself that the potions she'll stir up for Shakespeare is more so diluted. If he intended its use for something along the lines of subterfuge, then she'll increase it. But she dared not inquire what he would do with it.

Amakusa Shirou would like to know this as well—two heads are better than one against Shakespeare's machinations.

But for now, ruminating on that wasn't necessary. As she crossed the Hanging Gardens on foot, she took the time to assess the Knight of Treachery for herself. The revelation of her identity intrigued her greatly, even though her punky attitude left much to be desired. It was an odd choice to cover up that inadequacy she sported underneath. Both women of royal blood and treachery engraved into their legends, Semiramis finding Mordred interesting was a natural progression.

All monarchs require knights. All knights require monarchs. She'd like to think that she would've reacted better to Mordred's revelation than King Arthur. Even if that acknowledgment was nothing more than an assassination.

An assassination was proof that she recognized the person as a contender for the throne. That they had merit. Surely a loveless child like Mordred would understand?

If there was a chance that presented itself, then Semiramis would take it. But should Mordred prove herself to be more of a nuisance like Shakespeare, then she would find a beheading.

—

Jeanne d'Arc wandered the halls with Astolfo, Darnic and Fiore in tow as they unsubtly interrogated her. Astolfo's penchant for being obliviously chaotic good worked for them in this situation, so he ordered him to be released on parole. They seemed to get on well for now but Vlad made it clear that further failures would be met by his stakes.

"My king, Saber of Red is Mordred, the illegitimate child of King Arthur," Chiron said once they were alone.

He couldn't quite hide his surprise at the revelation. Chiron nodded as if in agreement.

Vlad had asked Chiron to take a walk with him and they ended up on the fortress's ramparts, overlooking the cleared field. Standing with a hand clasped behind his back, he felt as if he were alive again, defending Wallachia from the Turks. The wine was a bonus.

"I feel as if I should say that I am surprised that a Heroic Spirit like her existed. But if Jack the Ripper was summoned, then there is no point." He sipped from a glass.

"Indeed." Chiron's eyes fixed onto the constellations above them.

They observed the blackening sky in silence for a while. Vlad's troubled thoughts kept him company instead.

Lancer Karna, the peerless villain of ancient India; Archer Atalanta, the great huntress of the Greek myths; Saber Mordred, the bastard child of King Arthur turned kingslayer; Rider Achilles, a hero whose name was carved into history. Though Assassin and Caster haven't made an appearance yet, the line up already caused Vlad to consider their next move carefully. Undoubtedly, they must be of strong renown if the Red Faction's confidence is anything to go by.

Chiron's conjecture about Archer being Atalanta was around being ninety percent correct. She remained one of the strongest mortal archers in Classical mythology but afflicted with animal-like appendages—Frankenstein reacted to her like a dog defending its territory.

Still, he decided to take it with a grain of salt—though he couldn't help some tenseness. With Siegfried and Jack the Ripper gone, it was left to him and Chiron to keep the Black Faction afloat, as the only Heroic Spirits suited for fighting with these legendary figures. Frankenstein was a relatively young Heroic Spirit and Astolfo was a third-rate Servant.

However, the actuality of having no qualms fighting them was true. Aside from Mordred—and a stretch at that—they were pagans, so he had no issue, if there had been when they are the intruders, at killing them. Power was not an issue. Everyone here knew that as long as he was in Romania and given the greatest fame boost, he was surely a match for King Arthur in Britain or Heracles in Greece.

The battle in Sighisoara proved Mordred to be a brash and rebellious spirit who relied on her [Instinct] more than anything else. Karna's divine spear and armor and holy flames was a matter of how long he could afford severe mana consumption. Atalanta's physical constitution was like glass. And Vlad trusted Chiron to take out Achilles, Rider of Red, without having to force a mutual kill.

They counted on him, just as he counted on them to preside as the powerful captains he was denied in life. If he had any soldiers worthy of their prestige and command, then he never would've been falsely imprisoned.

After some deliberation, he started. "I spoke to Darnic after you were summoned, about how I have such powerful allies at my side."

"That is quite the praise from you. Thank you."

"However, I know nothing of the wishes you strive for. I do not mean to pry, but I ask only because I'd like to."

That made Chiron look nervous; he almost wrung his hands together, but stopped last-minute. Vlad understood it in a second: as the lynch pin of this faction, his wish possessed the highest priority.

Chiron seemed faintly embarrassed as he answered after some hesitation. "It is rather selfish...but I would ask of the Gods to return my immortality to me."

Vlad had no issues with Chiron—in fact, he held the Heroic Spirit in high regards. His presence was like a massive forest, engulfing the faction with his calm appearance and easy smile. He would go so far as to call him a friend, a comrade. The Lord knew he had been deprived of such indulgences in life—forced to rely only on himself for defending Wallachia.

"I assume you regretted relinquishing it." Vlad was thankful that Chiron saw through the icy gaze and tremendous presence he possessed. He asked not out of malicious intent, but genuine curiosity—something other people would've taken as the former.

"I do not miss it—rather, to relinquish it is like denying myself. It is a gift from my mother and father."

"I was blessed with loving parents—even if my sibling was not. To Wallachia, he is the greatest traitor to have come out from her lands and should have suffered a fitting end."

Chiron winced. He didn't blame him but his measures deterred many crimes. "If I recall correctly, your justice system was made so, that there was an example of a high taxer drinking his melted fortune. I almost shudder to think of what you might've done if he had lost. But traitors must be prepared to face a cruel fate if they decide to betray their homelands."

"Indeed. I find it comforting that you agree with me on that subject." Vlad swished his cup before holding it up in the moonlight. "Despite myself, I still remember my childhood with him fondly—before we left for Wallachia after our father paid the homage." He refrained from tightening his grip on the glass; some time afterward, Radu's rotten plumage showed through and dispelled the illusion of safety.

What would I give to get my hands on that filthy neck…

"My own parents haven't loved me at all but an irrational part of me desires it—though it will change nothing in the end."

Vlad grunted in acknowledgment.

Lancer, Ruler wishes to convey the terms of this stay with you and Archer present. Darnic's voice came easily through their link. Vlad detected no unnatural tones; he couldn't be too careful. His Master's respect for him as the lord of this land was expected, but the rest appeared to be more like niceties. Darnic was an excellent Master rank-wise and they had little problems when talking—Vlad couldn't quite place a finger on it.

Very well. Archer and I will join you momentarily.

"Chiron."

Something flashed in his eyes and seemed startled from Vlad addressing him by his True Name. He did not blame him.

"I wish to speak with you afterward about the matter of my Master and Caster."

He murmured his assent but a troubled look flowed through his eyes.

Vlad looked to the near future with trepidation as well. There was a storm headed for the weakened Black Faction.


	7. Chapter 6

It's been barely a few hours since sunset and he felt restless, like he needed to do something.

 _I'm happy Servants can't have hangovers. But unwinding is something else._ _Damn it all. I've got a persistent feeling telling me that "something" dangerous happened when I was drinking my ass off._

He snorted; the rationalization came quick and easy. _If anything, the dangerous sensation is because Caster decided to give me that play in the first place. And anyway, drinking top-notch alcohol and telling anyone about my war stories is a good way to spend the evening. Correcting that Caster's impressions of me before he does anything else with_ The Iliad _is crucial. I won't stand for that peace-seeking fool of an incarnation of me. It's an insult to all the effort I put into honing myself into a warrior and the sacrifices made to get where I am now._

Achilles yawned and stretched, purposely knocking into Mordred as she washed her face, using the water garden. She immediately grabbed his closest arm and tried to break it in half. He shoved her back and they started tousling in the water.

He didn't wrestle seriously, out of consideration for her mana consumption. But bruises were fair game.

As Achilles tried to get her into a headlock, he saw Atalanta hold out her infected arm for inspection and Shirou gingerly placed his hands over it. He didn't like the guy, but he hadn't done anything bad yet, and he seemed genuinely eager to help her. Achilles scowled briefly before turning to Mordred who stared back, challenging.

Achilles grinned. _Midget._ She was more than just a head shorter. Maybe up to his chest.

He paused, taking in the wound again, and released her torso. One of his arms had almost jabbed her in the eye while she flailed like a cat getting a belly rub.

She stepped away to give them breathing room, chest somewhat rising higher than advised.

They sized each other up.

"You giving up?"

"No. And that's gross—unsanitary as hell." Achilles flicked water at her socket—well, it wasn't empty anymore. A white slob filled it.

"We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers…" Shirou's voice faded to the background as Mordred retorted. Achilles allowed himself to exhale in relief as [Jack's Ghosts] were slowly being exorcised.

"You're gross." Mordred rolled her eyes and grinned fearlessly. That proved to be the decisive maneuver.

He had a faint idea of why. She dived and yanked him down with her. He yelped and they continued to smack each other at a slower pace—but Achilles didn't like waiting for Mordred's slow ass to strike empty spaces so he swam away in a burst downward then kicking against the marble floor. It launched him up against her, ramming force diluted by the unfortunate physics of water.

Mordred braced herself long before he kicked off. _Impressive._ She caught him by the arms and they were locked in hand clenching hand.

 _How about now?_ She mouthed, bubbles escaping in excess quantities. The liquid oozed out from her eye—and into the water.

He shook his head in a firm _no_.

 _Loser_ , she mouthed again and stuck out her tongue, as if he didn't get it the first time.

An arrow breaking the concrete wall next to him stopped them from continuing to duke it out.

"What if you hit me?" he accused half-heartedly as they crawled out of the pool.

Shirou must've left with Karna and Shakespeare, while they tried to rip each others' face off. Mordred flopped onto the ground like a dying fish face-down.

"I don't want to do anything now," She said, concrete muffling her.

Achilles mimicked her when Atalanta didn't change her expression.

"I have faith in your instinct as you have in my senses." Atalanta hefted an arrow in her hands. Tauropolos was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed she threw it as stress-relief.

"Thanks. I guess." Achilles rolled over to his back, almost crushing Mordred with his weight. Her leg kicked him lightly in the stomach. At least, he assumed—he just felt a force.

"Cut that shit out."

"Make me."

"Children." Atalanta came closer and stood over them; her arrow never looked so menacing until now. The silver head glinted a solid white under the moon. Torches illuminated her stern expression.

"Next time, I'm throwing you in myself." Mordred worked her jaw around, rubbing her injured eye.

"We'll see about that." Achilles sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. The familiar feeling of having his drenched clothes cling to his frame would start to irritate him soon but he needed to sit through the next hour for Atalanta.

"Carrot-head," Mordred jeered.

Atalanta angled the arrowhead to shine the light at her and she recoiled in an over-the-top way, shielding her good eye. "Enough."

"Fine." Mordred spit up water onto Achilles's face before clambering to her feet.

He slowly wiped the spittle from his face and almost reached out to trip her but thought better of it, after seeing Atalanta's glare fixed on the both of them. She reached out and rapped Mordred on the forehead, triggering a muffled complaint.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked first.

"No, not exactly," Atalanta answered while twirling the arrow in her hand. "But I'd prefer it if we conserve our mana since I believe Assassin wishes to make her move soon."

"Finally! I'm looking forward to getting some action. And then maybe we can finally get that Greater Grail and have a real tournament," Achilles crowed.

"The Grail huh?" Mordred said to herself, sounding unsure and lost. "That tournament sounds like a blast though."

"Oh, that reminds me." Achilles stretched and stood up. "Why do you fight for the Grail?"

Jade eyes narrowed and she discarded the hesitation. "The chance to draw the sword from the stone. I'll pull it out and prove to Arthur that anyone can become a king—even if they were born from the lowest of the hierarchy." Mordred declared proudly without any hint of falsity.

"Normally I'd disagree, but I'd rather see your kingship than another pop up," Achilles remarked. "Just don't order me to do anything I don't like and we'll have less problems to deal with."

"Didn't ask for your thoughts." Mordred snorted. He rolled his eyes but she was already turning to Atalanta and said, "What about you?"

She was silent for a little bit as a contemplative look came on. "My wish is for a world where all children will be loved."

Achilles was stunned for a second. _One of the purest wishes that I've ever heard...and that really said a lot about the Throne of Heroes._ "Why didn't you say anything about it earlier?!" He covered his heart with a hand—it's been a week since they were summoned. There was a small noise to his left. "What? Oi—something eating at you?"

"I didn't say this earlier since I was…worried...about your mental health," she exhaled sharply. "But...I'd really like to see that wish come true. Then maybe, Father would've have—" Mordred's face scrunched from an unknown conflict.

Achilles understood. "Oh, that's right. That king didn't recognize you as his heir?"

He was almost disappointed that she didn't growl her answer out but Atalanta was touched so he reluctantly let it go.

Instead her voice was tired and not boastful or anything similar. "Yeah. That damn king didn't give a shit about me as his faithful shadow or his bastard kid. ...just any acknowledgement would've been great."

"They say Arthur was a mechanical king who brought his kingdom peace, and yet he could not do anything for the restlessness that presented itself in his people." Atalanta shook her head in cold resignation. "I may consider myself a citizen of the woodlands, but the kings I've seen, when an Argonaut, at least possessed hot-blooded charisma. Arthur did not leave any room for dissent or happiness—that is what I believe."

Mordred huffed and shuffled, playing with her leather jacket. "Basically." She huffed again.

 _She's like a kid, even more so than a bratty teenager—like Diomedes without that hot temper except she—_

That punky attitude was too similar to when he reacted upon hearing his destiny. _I became swallowed up by the potential, the track for me to sprint all I want. Odysseus and Chiron reigned me in so—_

"Mordred, how old are you?" Achilles asked, having an awful premonition. "Going off by your looks...you're a homunculus or something similar, aren't you? That's the only explanation."

 _Like she didn't have_ _time to mature. Those nine years with Chiron gave me all the time in the world to prepare for my fate and I had friends at my side._

"Is that a problem with you?" She growled briefly but he silenced her with his own. "...six or seven—" Mordred was cut off by Atalanta whirling around and grabbing her by the shoulders. "...uh, is there something wrong?"

 _"Yes,"_ She hissed. "This changes _everything_ about what our plans against the enemies will be."

Achilles had to hand it to Mordred—the full responsibility of his respect. Like him, she sprinted through her life, even if it wasn't of her own choosing. But she reached out and grabbed it for herself, even if the results were not what she expected. If he recalled correctly, homunculi didn't live for very long—and she already looked like a teenager.

"But we're all Heroic Spirits here—I don't get it. And in the end I do what I want so the responsibility is mine alone."

"I don't believe that you understand what I mean." Atalanta closed her eyes, sighing, and her voice became warm as she examined Mordred for a second time. "To me, you are a child—and it's not an insult."

Mordred's blankness disturbed Achilles.

"...so you include me...in your wish?" Her voice almost wavered at the end.

"Of course." Atalanta smoothed down a stray hair in Mordred's ponytail. "You may as well be family at this point."

He held back a smirk. Atalanta fussed over her injured eye, muttering to her about how she was going to be Mordred's older sister. She reacted with faintly annoyed remarks but a light dust of red flush coated her face. Someone she could rely on—and Achilles undoubtedly knew it was the first declaration of being her family...actually, on second thought, that was a disturbing implication.

Of course he knew about King Arthur's involvement—or lack thereof—but he assumed that the king at least gave his acknowledgement and praise to all of his knights of the round table.

Apparently he did not.

"Want me to be your brother?" he sidled up to her, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

She side-eyed him before grinning broadly.

"Okay. But I get to be the older brother—"

If he commented on that, it'd put her in a bad mood again and Atalanta would hurt him for it. And it wasn't his place to thrust his opinion on her. "—absolutely not. Sis here is the oldest without Karna here, but I still came a few thousand years before you. Remember, you admitted you were our junior so you'll yield the right for first letter of our team."

"—like I care about that now—"

 _"—You can both be the trouble-making twins."_ Atalanta smiled softly but her voice retained its authoritative edge.

"Yes, mom," he simpered, pleased that Mordred didn't object. "So as our first order of business, I want to talk about our older sister's wish in detail."

Atalanta had an exasperated expression now.

"Sorry sis, but I'm concerned, thanks to Assassin of Black's interference." Achilles held his ground. And it was true. He let his voice go lower. "I care about you."

 _It's a hero's duty to punish the evil._

Karna pulled him off to the side and informed him of what happened in the fog. His heart ached even now—the tussle with Mordred hadn't helped one bit to relieve it. If that didn't speak damming volumes about his blood knight tendencies, then he didn't know what did.

It was a postponement. _Sis...please don't use Agrius Metamorphosis ever again._

"Alright, alright. Fine." Atalanta grumbled curses under her breath.

"And there's my cue." Mordred snorted and shoved him off her shoulder. There was nothing about physics and weight in Andreias Amarantos, and Achilles was fine with being pushed back from her strength. "That's enough mushy, gross, heartfelt confessions for now—"

"— _awww_ , are you embarrassed?"

"Achilles," Atalanta sighed.

Mordred gave him a deadly glare, jaw clenched for maximum intimidation purposes. _Tch. You're a big softie like me. And Odysseus does it better._

"Whatever." She shook her head, face cooling to a neutral expression. "I'm gonna go talk to Karna while I can."

"Mordred, I would like to talk more as well. Preferably before we fight the Black Faction." Atalanta reminded her.

"Let's catch up later then." She waved a hand over her shoulder in acknowledgment, leaving via spirit form.

A few minutes taken to adjust their positions, they stood right in front of the pool next to each other.

"Karna went off with Shirou to replenish his mana. I believe Caster tagged along on account of Assassin's concern for her Master—she is working on completing the ritual for this Noble Phantasm."

"Like you said earlier. So we'll be squaring off tomorrow night if Assassin doesn't waste any time for today?"

Atalanta nodded and jumped topic to steer Achilles into the corner. "About that, are you prepared to fight Archer of _Melas_ —Chiron?"

He didn't expect that. And didn't want to think about it at all. Because there were three people who he never wanted to fight again, or ever. _My mentor, Chiron. My enemy, Hector. My vindicator, Penthesilea._

Achilles tried to swallow the lump in his throat discreetly. Her eyes zeroed in on him and he cursed his carelessness.

"Mordred can have him," he said, shoving his confidence back into his mouth, and smirked. "Karna said he was the one who destroyed her eye. So if he's still alive—I'll take him on."

Atalanta watched him for a minute for conceding.

"...Achilles. Do you believe that it's possible to save every child?"

And he was back into the frying pan. His mouth went dry. He stayed silent because he knew the answer would anger her and the fact that it had come to him instantly.

"No...I don't think so," he answered reluctantly. Atalanta stilled, so he hurried to say what's been growing in his heart ever since he's known her, from the fond memories Peleus had of her.

 _A striking female hunter, who is like a swift horse running through a prairies._

 _She held strength to treat any hardship headed her way as nothing._

 _One of the few female Argonauts._

 _Atalanta defeated Peleus in a wrestling match._

 _Atalanta struck the Calydonian Boar first._

"But sis! I—" his breath was knocked out of his torso when she gained the same blank look Mordred had a few minutes ago. "...can you tell me what you saw?"

"It was hell," Atalanta proclaimed in an uneasy tone. "All the children were dead inside, barely existing in that hell. And the acts they committed…"

Achilles listened completely as she rambled, sentences starting to string together into one until she went into depth of how she was brought back to her senses.

"...Karna said I wasn't wrong in my desire to save every child in this wretched world and I trusted him because he is a good man—you and your father, Peleus, are the only others. Perhaps that is the only explanation for why I could escape the madness of Agrius Metamorphosis finally."

"He said you became a calamity in pursuit of vengeance for those children—"

He didn't want to finish that thought. His mind crafted blurred images of Atalanta, ravening eyes and boasting that eldritch-like pelt after he understood what Agrius Metamorphosis did to her.

It led to a horrifyingly familiar situation. Though he had made his grave and laid in it since his decision, this wasn't the case for Atalanta and he couldn't let her suffer it unjustly.

 _I had been like that after Patroclus died—for days on end, all I saw was Trojan blood, Divine blood, and Hector's blood._

 _But still...feelings aren't always connected by linear objects. No one has the right to criticize what I desire or what others desire of me. If I don't regret the things I've done, then it doesn't mean they never happened._

"—Achilles." Atalanta said quietly, and then he realized he was crying.

Achilles didn't care that his tears soaked his face. She reached out a hand and caught them, a rueful smile appearing.

Sucking in the cold air, he tried to let his heart speak for himself. There was nothing in front of him that could take his attention from this. He wasn't sure if this was for her or his comfort—but it needed to be said.

Before another tragedy happens without any of her comrades to save her.

"...Atalanta. Your dream is beautiful. While knowing more than anyone else that your dream is unrewarding, you keep challenging that. However, you started down on the wrong path. That path didn't have anything in common with your dream." He laid a hand over hers, clutching it tight to his cheek.

"I didn't think I'd see you cry," Atalanta whispered. "...what was I supposed to do? Karna said it was wrong to protect those children so—if trying to protect them was wrong…"

Then the world must be really be a cursed place, but none of them wanted to say it.

"...even so. Even so, I'm glad Karna was there to save you—I think I would've ended up killing the both of us in the process."

"I'm glad too," Atalanta admitted, removing her hand when his tears stopped.

"Atalanta—let's win the Holy Grail."

—

If it came down to the wire on a split-second to act, Mordred would swing her sword against Shirou. And Semiramis, Karna, or Shakespeare wouldn't get in her way again. _That's fine_ , she decided. She was sure that unlike the other Red Servants, she possessed the biggest reason to betray him. And it wasn't like Achilles or Atalanta had a reason to complain about it? They had their misgivings too, even if it was diluted by Shirou exorcising [Jack's Ghosts] from Atalanta's arm.

Kairi might be in the beast's belly...but she grudgingly admitted that he was at least safe from Yggdmillennia's range.

Her eye bothered her less and less as time crept by. If she focused, a vague sense of depth perception could be realized. But so did nausea. She judged it to be at least workable by tomorrow night.

This small village outside of Trifas was quiet even though it was barely after dusk, in a strange way that made her feel at ease. Sampling the local cuisine increased the comfort she took in this village and since she finally got to fight last night, she didn't feel cravings for pummeling fools.

Mordred had been sitting against a fence along the dusty road playing with a fluffy gray cat when Karna swung by.

"Were you waiting for a while?" Karna appeared in a cloud of blust dust, still in his civilian clothing.

"Not really. And I'm not that bored." She hefted the cat up and down by its shoulders. Karna stared, amused. "This cat has been stalking me since I came here—even walking into a café with me."

"It may be that Atalanta's scent rubbed off onto you," he noted, kneeling next to her and rubbed the cat's head after she lowered it.

He smiled as it meowed at him, batting its head against his hand.

"Heh. Yeah that's possible." Mordred grinned. "They didn't do anything weird, or out of the ordinary, during the mana transfer?"

"Kotomine Shirou seemed somewhat...overly concerned. But it was authentic and I shall treat it as merely a trait of a good Master."

"And Caster?"

At this, Karna sighed in complete exasperation. From what she's seen of the guy, she couldn't blame him. _Even saints like Karna have their limits._

"...it had occurred to him that the best way to gain the advantage over me, when he has no such other alternatives, is best me in the matters of pleasure. Though, he preferred overall to intrude upon my personal space as I was given mana. Caster hovered like a mother concerned for the wrong reasons."

 _"Ew."_

"I am sure that he only did out of curiosity for figuring out the limits of my boundaries."

"...that's still weird. Well, I'm glad I didn't have to replenish my mana with that irritating Assassin—she'd probably do the same to me. What about your spiritual core?"

"My spiritual core is sensitive but not strained anymore," he responded. "As long as I don't use my [Mana Burst]: Flames—but I believe Brahmastra is sufficient—then I will be fine for the battle we are to start tomorrow night."

"Nice." The cat scampered off into the grass—she heard mice scurrying about. "Can we talk?"

"I assume this is related to your remark about me being a therapist."

"Bingo."

Karna didn't sigh, but she felt like he was carefully choosing her words. "What would you like to start with?"

This question had been eating her for some time—Karna's authority on the matters of kingship needed to be clarified. Mordred propped a hand under her chin. "...what kind of a king was Duryodhana like?"

Surprise flickered across his face for the briefest of seconds. _Am I that weird…?_

"A king who judged others not on the caste system in ancient India but their merit. He crowned me king of Anga after a competition—my skill and eye surpassed everyone and so they returned the favor with humiliating me on grounds for being a charioteer's son. And then I gave him everything I had left." Karna looked up to the carpet of stars being rolled out across the black night. A wistful touch joined the nostalgia in his eyes. "I had given him everything," he repeated, and Mordred got a feeling it was more to himself. "Everything that all my valor and loyalty could ever accomplish."

He suddenly raked a hand through his unkempt hair. "He reminds me of you, I suppose. In the same way you both let your temper guide your actions when injustice materializes. Nor do the both of you make excuses for shortcomings."

She felt an instinctive need to see for herself if Duryodhana valued him as not the spear he claimed to be. Mordred almost gritted her teeth. But Karna didn't notice it, eyes drawn to where the sun would rise and bring dawn.

"Was he a good friend?"

"To me, he was."

Mordred pursed her lips in unreasonable irritation. That didn't seem like an acceptable explanation, no matter how unwavering he sounded. No matter how resolute his gaze was.

Karna folded his arms and continued in a knowing tone from her silence. "As for why I stayed with him, I owed Duryodhana a debt. For some reason, that impudent and timid man was so bright to me. It may be blasphemy against my lord father but, occasionally, I felt that his sweet light was the warmth of the sun."

"Oh," she murmured on instinct. Was that what it was like, to have an unbreakable friendship? It did sound like one. The kind of emotion that glued a person to another—out of genuine love. Or at least that's what she guessed.

And because she wasn't sure where to hit next, she talked about her wish.

"I remember that you said that 'if I'm the strongest knight then I already surpassed my father'." she wrung out her hands, feeling an urge to do something physical. "So before you came here, I thought a lot about what being a king means—my definition won't change...but what am I supposed to do afterward? I only ever thought about the journey there."

"Mordred, are you holding yourself up to King Arthur's standards?"

"Yeah...now that you say it...I guess I am," she said, reluctant to face it.

Her realization had the subtlety of a truck hit.

 _I had my own brand of chivalry and way of kingship to follow...and yet in the end I can't shake myself off Father's decrees. But he knew what to do. Everyone looked to him for guidance. He is the defender, the giver, the king. He does everything first. I remember wanting to protect King Arthur_ — _not just as his shadow but…_

 _Is it really what he wanted? Would he really approve of my wish?_

 _...we're so different that there's an ocean between us…_

Mordred inhaled.

 _...oh. So...that's what I wanted._

 _To draw Caliburn, is to abandon your humanity._

 _I didn't even give it a second thought._

 _He must have been lonely, at the top._

 _But I have Atalanta, Achilles_ — _and_ _Karna._

"For what it's worth, I would follow you if you were to be king."

She couldn't stop the "Holy shit" from slipping out. Karna didn't take offense because he was the purest man she's ever met. That declaration further shaved uncertainty from her mind and she had no idea how to feel about it since everything was a first in this Great Holy Grail War.

And she definitely didn't blush.

Mordred licked her lips and tried to form the words lining up but they were slow to verbalize. "I think...I think that though I can surpass him…" she stopped. "—I'm limiting myself by holding myself to his standard of what he believed is a good reign."

Clenching her fists, saying the next sentence hurt her as much as she felt relieved. "If I continue to pursue my wish, then I'll do it on my own terms."

"That is what you want?"

"Yes." her answer came clear and confident. Mordred believed it completely. "...egh, so it took me this long. And I can't believe it's been only two or three hours since we started." she looked up to the sky before turning to Karna.

"...thanks."

"You needn't thank me. I am always happy to help you." he dipped his head, soft smile appearing. "I see you as my friend and comrade."

There was no hesitation in her grin.

They meandered away from the fence afterward but she stopped on the road leading to the highway, suddenly remembering the family Atalanta spoke of. At this point she wanted to set the record straight and ignore the church incident.

He had already proved himself to be past that.

"Here's a heads up in case Achilles makes a dumb comment; apparently we're siblings now or something like that." Mordred told him about what Achilles and Atalanta said earlier. For some unfathomable reason her heart started thumping, like the drums of war. She saw but didn't feel her hands twitch in anticipation.

"Mordred—" Karna had an indecipherable expression. Strange, like when she refused Bedivere's offer of assistance with a quest once.

"Huh? You've got a issue with it or whatever? Then you'll have to take it up with Atalanta—"

"—I was blessed with many brothers but I had no such sisters," he interrupted, not unkindly. Soft sapphire irises didn't blink in anticipation. "And none of those brothers were particularly accepting; it mattered not that they hadn't learned of it till the end. For Achilles and Atalanta to designate me as their brother...well...it is something that is also unknown to me." he placed a hand over his heart, looking completely sincere to the point of Mordred almost blanching from this blatant display of emotion from _Karna._ And in general. "Mordred. I am far from opposed from this offer Atalanta created."

At first, she wanted to rage at Karna for seeing her as a woman but she forced herself to relax her spiked nerves with all her willpower. No matter how her blood sang in untouched emotions. He did not say it out of malice—Karna was the kind of guy to drop bombshells, she knew that.

 _So don't have a meltdown._

"...I really don't know," she answered after unclenching her jaw. Staring at her invisible fractal scarring, Mordred had no idea if she even wanted to care about Arthur, whether it be hate or love. She was tired. Tired from this Round Table, kingship, and family issues, when she ever thought about it in detail, but other matters quickly consumed her attention. "I really don't know if I could be your sister...brother is fine but…"

"It is only natural you would feel as such." Karna stated. "You were raised to be the king's son and heir. Nothing more, nothing less."

Mordred raised her head slowly. "You really don't know what tact is…" she groaned.

Karna murmured an apology and she accepted it, somewhat uncomfortable.

She huffed again and buried her head into her hands, rubbing her cheeks carefully. "For a spearman like you who's so gung-ho about loyalty, aren't you…" she trailed off, not sure if she wanted to continue.

Karna sounded firm as usual, but his smooth voice had a gentle essence. More so than usual.

"You are someone whose epithet and actions revolved around treachery in life...and it is undeniable that you were one of the principal forces that dropped the curtains on King Arthur's legend. But, since you revealed your reasons for doing so, I cannot completely blame you for it. I feel that is what might have happened to me in the _Mahabharata_ if I did not have Duryodhana and Vrushali to anchor me. Furthermore, you are strangely devoted to your Master."

"And to wish for acceptance and acknowledgment as Mordred, not the Knight of Treachery, by denouncing any judgments based on your circumstances...well...it is not my place to condemn you for it. We were both born from low standings, and so we shall seek whatever we feel is the best way to surpass that."

For a long while, they were silent. Karna was content to let her have her ruminations boil and she made her gratitude known.

"...this might sound weird...but how about both? ...Achilles and Atalanta are just one of each—ugh, I don't—" Mordred elapsed into a series of awkward, on-the-fly gestures. Her gender issues were just as eloquent outside as they were inside.

"I do not mind," he answered instantly.

He did not deride her.

He did not complain.

He accepted her.

"Are you—" Mordred's throat became an insurmountable blockade as something _thick_ lodged inside. After coughing many times, she choked out, "—serious?"

"If you find it acceptable, then yes."

She breathed and her chest lost all the nervous butterflies.

 _...Today, three people accepted me as part of their family...then there's only one course of action left!_ A pleasantly warm sensation settled into her stomach and she wanted more of it. So she would grab it and keep it close.

Mordred grinned wide and raised a fist for him to bump. "My Master taught me this—it's called a fistbump. A sign of friendship. And respect."

Karna stared at the offering like it was a plate of spiders that she wanted him to eat. Slowly, he reached out and returned it. A tiny smile grew into a full grin. It was like the sun had decided to smile at her in all of its infinite warmth.

"Good man," she barked and slapped him on the back lightly. This time, she thought it was more subdued and it'd better be.

Karna raised an eyebrow. "As long as you don't headbutt me like you did to Achilles then I'm satisfied. Contrary to your beliefs, that is not how affection is normally shown physically."

"Tch. That was only for showing him that I wasn't going to let him go for free. Fine, fine, I'll try to work on it."

There's a difference between being executed and killed. Mordred still didn't understand which of the two applied to her and she'll never know. _But maybe I don't have to,_ she realized, as they walked back to the Hanging Gardens swapping stories from their legends.

—

"I will be honest with you," Jeanne said once they sat down on red velvet couches. "This is merely an offer for temporary residence once I can confirm the Red Faction's position. Though, if there are spiritual problems, you can ask me for assistance. In general, if you need my assistance with matters not related to the Holy Grail War then I'll help if I can."

"Of course." A triumphant gleam melted into Darnic's snake-like eyes. She vaguely recalled his title as the Eight-Forked Tongue Magus.

Jeanne blinked longer than what was advised to relax her muscles.

She was in her civilian outfit in order to dispel any lingering doubt about possible backstabbing. However, as the Ruler-Class Servant, why would she even commit such a thing? It was made impossible by the Grail for a Heroic Spirit with a wish to be incarnated as Ruler. Though Heroic Spirits who would fall for biased temptations shouldn't be fit for the Ruler class in the first place. It was as if the Black Faction refused to see past the title 'Ruler'.

Jeanne had her misgivings about using her privilege without further negotiation but Saber and Lancer of Red's attempts to murder her changed it all. _I will have to do the best I can here._

She almost shuddered. Since she knew Lancer of Red, Karna, to possess a noble character, it was probably due to his Master's will.

Saber of Red, Mordred, had such wicked hate and for a moment it had been directed at her. And she had called her "Father". Jeanne hadn't met King Arthur...but to think two legendary figures from rival countries were similar in appearance created an odd irony. But she had thought it even stranger about Saber of Red.

Clarent Blood Arthur's hate certainly tried to mow her down—but with her exceptional resistance to curses and holy flag, she shrugged the worst of it off. At the same time she was merely a target for what issues burrowed into Mordred's mind.

 _What a horrible existence for a Heroic Spirit._ She didn't judge them based on their legends. It would be like taking the English view of her legend into consideration only. Instead she found empathy with Saber of Red for her misfortunes. Jeanne believed it to be external circumstances like Karna, and she prayed for it be as she guessed.

Vlad III, Lancer of Black, sat opposite from her with a glass of red wine in his hand. His Master, Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia stood behind him, arms crossed behind his back. They awaited further words in silence. But she sensed exhilaration from Darnic and the faintest trail of wariness from Vlad.

"I do not intend on interfering with this War beyond being the arbitrator. Or, at least, I had intended." Jeanne didn't miss the way Vlad's eyes gleamed in interest. "The reason is simple. I suspect there has been tampering with the Greater Grail—but not in the wish-granting aspect." She raised her voice over Darnic's mutterings.

Vlad glanced at her and she elaborated. "In the sense that there is a missing step of a sorts. For that misstep, I am unable to use spirit form."

"So you are completely occupying a human body." He concluded.

"Yes. In the case that I should die, a backup copy of my host's body will be used. But let us return to our original topic. I believe Assassin of Red's familiars could direct Red Servants toward me and I cannot escape on foot without exercising my privilege."

Indeed, white doves flocked in by the dozen to the church's eaves. From thereon, suspicious mana activity ensued. Jeanne hadn't rested thereafter since due to possibly dragging in the woman who had been so kind to take her in. Which was why her suitcase and belongings was parked by the couch.

"Hmph. They must be so sure of their strength and refuge in audacity to attempt an obvious assassination again." Vlad snorted. "How foolhardy of them."

"I can't turn a blind eye to these Red machinations anymore. If I want to be able to perform my duties to the fullest, then I must investigate and act accordingly."

If she is recognized as a Servant, as Ruler, but unable to access certain functions normally given then there are extremely unorthodox happenings afoot. Jeanne still didn't want to—and preferred—step out of her jurisdiction.

But it was sort of like when she left home to save France. There was something to be done—if no one else was going to, who would? Therefore Jeanne allowed herself to take the first step and strike it hard.

She had heard the Lord's laments.

He shrieked. He lamented. He wept, and he felt sorrow. The world changed straight into hell, and no one could stop it. The Lord lamented in sorrow. People were not even allowed to live simply, and were compelled to become either beasts or food. Conflict never ended, and blood continued to rain incessantly and soak the land.

That was the result of the Hundred Years' War.

 _That's why the Lord lamented—I heard His voice. I caught His small, feeble murmurs that everyone else failed to hear. It was an obvious thing._

 _To lend my ears to His voice and respond to it meant that I would lose everything I had to my name._

 _I had to throw away my life as a simple villager and the joy of loving someone and being loved back—in return for nothing. I would surely be scorned by many people—both enemies and allies alike._

 _It was a very terrifying thing to contemplate. It was insane for a mere bumpkin girl from the countryside to join the battlefield where sin and hatred congregated._

 _—But the Lord cried. Yes, I surely… can't bear it. I can't turn my back on His cries. In order to stop the Lord's tears and soothe Him, I will oppose this world's hell. I will clad my body in armor, hang a sword on my waist, carry the flag—and devote my life to it._

 _Yes, the voice of revelation I received from the Lord contained no glory or victory, no obligation or sense of purpose. The Lord merely lamented and grieved._

 _—That's why. At the very least, having received that revelation, I thought I should stop the Lord's laments._

She pursed her lips, shaking off the memories and asked Darnic a question. "Let me confirm it. You are the Master who participated in the Third Holy Grail War?"

He nodded.

"Then that simplifies it. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary—especially the Servants?"

Darnic had a hesitant touch to his voice, as if he felt wary about their reactions. Yet Vlad just sat there, sipping from a cup of wine. "...I believe the Einzberns summoned an irregular Servant but I could not determine his True Name. But to me, he was a Heroic Spirit that seemed like an irregular existence."

"What of your own, and others, if you can recall it?"

"Lancer Hua Mulan—my Servant." Darnic grimaced as he continued, counting by hand. "Archer Artemis. Saber Ilya Muromets and Fionn mac Cumhail—as a result of the Edelfelt Sorcery Trait. Rider Ramses II. Berserker Sanna. And I hadn't been able to confirm the identity of Caster—as a female Heroic Spirit, that is all I know."

Jeanne sighed again. "Then the Assassin was swapped for whatever Servant the Einzberns summoned." She drummed her fingers along her leg.

If the Einzberns could manipulate the Greater Grail and if Yggdmillennia couldn't fix the system-like error, then it was not out of the question for it to be confusing her with perhaps another Servant—despite the astronomical odds involved. There was also the issue of the Edelfelts summoning two Sabers using their twin sisters as a single Master.

"I believe the most likely explanation is that there is another Servant summoned by the Grail—" She sighed and closed her eyes as Darnic excused himself hurriedly in unrestrained shock.

"I suppose he has went to confer with Caster on this matter," Vlad muttered in irritation as the door slammed shut.

"Oh…" she sighed again.

"But this Servant you speak of, do you truly suspect them to be colluding with the Red Faction? That must be why they would stand to gain from your defeat."

"I would put my confidence rate as around eighty percent. If Assassin did not participate in the Third War, then I believe the Grail deemed it necessary to summon a final Servant, to complete the interval. And the assassination plot—a safety measure to ensure they won't be found out."

Vlad grimaced, but satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "Anyway, it is reassuring to know that the mediator for this Great Holy Grail War believes in the same God as I."

"Since I believe in God, I pray that I can convey to you that I aim to be fair and impartial."

The edges of Vlad's mouth slid into a smile at her adamant gaze. "Forgive this remark, but did you not reveal Mordred's name before you and Archer allied?"

Jeanne refused to let herself become embarrassed from his chiding. Even after all the battles, all the horrors, all the necessary evils, she never grew out of her oblivious farm girl-self at the worst times.

"...Yes. There is that," she conceded.

Vlad's grin was approving.

She would have to give it a longer time frame to see if it was truly favorable to have Vlad the Impaler approve of her—her fair share of war crimes involved tactics that the knights of the time never approved of. But he was something else.

In the year 1431, Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the stake and Vlad the Impaler was born. It felt as if when a hero dies, another takes their place—Jeanne believed this to be an auspicious coincidence.


	8. reverie ii

_The rain—no. Not the rain. It is blood that drips down his forehead. His sweaty hands have been clutching his father's spear in a near death-grip._  
 _  
_ _Where am I, he thinks, because right after he got the news everything become a blur. First, it had been grief. Second, it had been a sort of raw, primal anger that stretched back to its roots of when Gaea witnessed Ouranos eat their children one by one._

 _That's right._

 _The news._

 _Odysseus delivered it personally. Achilles had joked about the somber, uncharacteristically gentle eyes the great strategist brought with him._

 _"That's unbecoming of you," he had said. "Not a good look."_

 _Aias had shaken his head after Achilles queried where everyone else was._

 _Menelaus asks him to come outside with them._

 _Achilles berates himself, never letting up, following the return of Hector's corpse. He had gone too far in desecrating the Trojan hero's corpse, had willingly, gleefully, dragged it everywhere for everyone to witness. No matter how Odysseus consoles him, no matter how Aias rends the enemies' flesh, no matter how many gifts Agamemnon gives, even fearless Briseis—nothing will bring him back._

 _He had cried, screamed, and wailed so loudly, so plainly, that even the gods at the seafloor heard his grief._

 _Odysseus had probably assumed that if it was his sympathetic words rather than Agamemnon's gleeful I-told-you-so's, then less blood would be spilt. And he was right. Achilles's rampage of revenge, after reflection, could have been worse. Defy fate. Defy the will of the gods of Olympus._

 _He could've taken Troy on that day._

 _Patroclus is dead._  
 _  
_ _Eyes open to the rising dawn and the crushing weight of Patroclus's death anchors him to the world. He tears the world asunder until many band together to stop his earth-shattering rage. A rage that frightened the World. Enough to summon the Counter Force._

 _Patroclus is gone._

 _You let him die._

 _It is truly his fault and he has no one to blame but himself._

"And though the dead forget the dead in the house of Hades, even there I shall still remember my beloved companion," Amakusa Shirou said to himself before closing a copy of _The Iliad_ and setting it aside. He let out a sigh, dissatisfied in the end.

He sat there for a while, ruminating in a boiling stew of the definition of a hero.

Famous examples like him and Heracles circled back to the original definition of a warrior. Greeks prided themselves on the journeys where heroes dueled impossible entities and falling to the cruel hand of fate at the end. Tragedies were what made their lands go round. The Greek heroes of old were selfish. Bloodthirsty. Only looking for a good fight. Atalanta and his father, Peleus, one of the few to abhor the violence they so easily put on a show for.

Achilles, in life and as a Heroic Spirit, adhered to the very idea of hedonistic heroism. A promise to his mother.

Being a hero means being more than the strongest. To be larger than life, to have a stronger sense of himself even if it means the path of hubris. And Amakusa Shirou understood that Achilles had sprinted all his life through glory and blood, because he couldn't let his potential go to waste.

But he only understood it in the literal sense. Amakusa Shirou threw his head back against the wall, wincing after a sharp pain passed through.

 _Achilles must be twice as any other human. He must love twice as hard, be twice as fast, laugh twice as hard, and cry twice as hard. Only then can he be the best of the heroes._

 _He must rage twice as hard. But he won't be satisfied with merely frightening his allies and enemies. His wrath must shake the heavens and cause the Gods of Olympus to fear him. Only then will he surpass the pinnacle of heroism._

 _His only wish to live as he did in life._

Patroclus had been Achilles's humanity.

He opened his eyes and stretched his knuckles, popping them one by one. Afterward, a bitter smile formed. Mordred and Achilles posed the biggest problem as of now.

"My, my. At this rate, Karna will be the only one who will accept my salvation."


	9. reverie iii

_The hill is soaked in blood._

 _The sky is drenching blood around the crimson hue of the red sun setting._

 _Crows circle, waiting as they have been since Mordred was born, to feast on the final wave._

 _The taint of traitorous blood is everywhere._

 _To move forward, is to walk on the hill of corpses._  
 _  
_ _This hill can only be Camlann._

 _On this hill, the curtain would drop once and for all on Arthur's dazzling legend._

 _Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain are dead which spurs Mordred on toward the sunset of victory._

 _Knights fell and rose into a tide of bloodshed for the king and the heir._

 _Rank and file soldiers stand behind her before they sprint into the final battle, where Arthur and Bedivere become the only survivors. Mordred howls and leaps forward, charging the thickest formation and tearing them to shreds._

 _Clarent gorges itself on the bloodshed, becoming a demonic sword. She had stolen it from Arthur's treasury after being rejected, while the king was away on an expedition to hunt Sir Lancelot down._

 _The morale that kept the rebel army marching is like a maddened frenzy, taking hold of their revitalized spirits under the guidance of the red dragon's calamity. She is not a knight andthat is why they follow her—far from the mechanical perfection of Arthur._  
 _  
_ _Again and again she cuts down every human in her path until Arthur stands before her._

 _"Why?" She bellows like a dragon. "Why did you not give me the throne?" a terrible thought rises. "Is it because I'm the son of a witch?! That I'm Morgan's son?!"_

 _How could you judge me on that alone—_

 _"—You did not have the capacity to become king," Arthur says indifferently as this cold verdict slammed into Mordred's chest, leaving her breathless before it gains a second wind of rage._

 _She immediately brings down her sword in anger, and then, Rhongomyniad tears her breastplate into nothing. Mordred stumbles and stops along with Arthur who holds Rhongomyniad steady. They stand like two warriors in a timeless prison for less than half a minute but nothing—nothing nothing nothing can stop her from returning the favor._

I hate you, I hate you—the perfect king who never turned around to face me—

—that's why this is a natural disaster, a punishment! So I destroyed everything you had and loved!

 _Roaring with all her might Mordred skewers herself running forward and cleaves Clarent into Arthur's shoulder, dealing a decisive wound. And Arthur doesn't react at all. She stares, half from growing numbness, half from becoming distraught._  
 _  
_ _Her helm finally breaks into two and Arthur doesn't react to seeing his face reflecting back. Rhongomyniad leaves her heart in tatters as she slumps forward onto the ground without anything to support her._

 _Mordred does not cry. But she does feel unhappiness._

 _Arthur turns around without a single word, striding away to find the next enemy._

 _"...Fa...ther..." she falls without touching King Arthur, hand reached out for his back._

"What must we do to find salvation?" Amakusa Shirou asked after examining a hole in the architecture.

He and Semiramis lingered on the outer boundary, where once flight is granted, will be a watch point. However; the Hanging Gardens of Babylon was a perfect replica but even it couldn't stand against the oceans of time eating at the corners, the eaves, the vines, and the pillars.

He wouldn't tell Semiramis about that though.

"...that is a strange question, considering you have committed yourself to bestow that gift on humanity already." He saw Semiramis glance at him, in the corner of his eye. "Does something trouble you?"

"I had a memory fragment dream of Saber—the battle of Camlann."

Her eyes narrowed in contemplation, and he recognized it as a sign of thinking deeply. He continued calmly: "The current Mordred is completely a corpse. Any survivors who returned to the battlefield probably stripped her of everything she had left and left her to rot, to be devoured by the scavengers."

Semiramis was silent.

Amakusa Shirou's brow furrowed. There was no one left to remember her. No one left to record the vibrant energy she kept close. ...she died in obscurity without even her parents turning to see her as she was, not the Knight of Treachery.

"I think if I acknowledge her or try to, she'll bare her fangs at me instead," he said eventually and turned to her. "What do you think?"

Strangely not gloating or anything of the sort, Semiramis responded in a neutral voice. "I find her intriguing," she admitted readily.

Amakusa Shirou raised his eyebrows. Blinking at him, she smiled sweetly. "Did you expect something different? Like how instead, I would like to behead her?"

"Yes, actually." He shook his head in amazement. "Yes. My apologies, but she did really rile you up in the church, and I wasn't exact about the relationship between you two aside from a mutual dislike."

She sniffed. "A reasonable assumption." Her eyes grew dark. "No one acknowledged her rebellion except for the masses, who only saw her as a frenzy to consume and experience something other than perfection." Semiramis heaved a long sigh. "I dislike King Arthur mostly of out how he ruled. Although his treatment of his heir's passion is something else to be taken in consideration."

"And that is?"

"Though he is a king, he plays frugality like a sport that is already reserved to us nobility. As rulers, we are already tyrants in the eyes of certain groups. Therefore, there is no point in trying to create a splendid kingdom where only the plague of peace may spread. Giving into whims is a method of proving one's superiority by proving their power as so indestructible, that they have no fear over ruining their kingdom."

He refrained from mentioning her pursuit of Ara the Beautiful which only ended in his death. But Heroic Spirit Semiramis exuded a decadent bearing —she is a deliberate queen who premeditated her choices, all passionately.

"I want to know if her wish is worthy of her moniker or herself." Semiramis finished.

"Mm. Perhaps after this secrecy is revealed." he nodded.

He was sure he didn't see her as the Knight of Treachery anymore—he hoped he wouldn't have to.


	10. Chapter 7

**Been working on this one for two weeks, so I'll just upload it I guess.**

 **Guest: I'm taking the light novels and anime into consideration. I know about Garden of Avalon, but I haven't seen a translation for it. Also, my Arthurian knowledge is really rusty which meant I remembered at the last second about Mordred's Orkney fam.**

* * *

Ripples pushed against the stone fencing in the water.

Arrows greeted flying targets.

Mordred and Karna went into Sighisoara to kill time while Achilles napped in the library. Almost too convenient. She half-expected them to pop up every time she halted to reset the targets.

If she ignored the architecture and conjured up a smell reminiscent of the untouched forest, then she could pretend for a little longer that she was home. But if she did, it'd be like admitting she didn't have a very present problem about her mental state.

She couldn't help the snarls every time she thought about it. Even little trails of blood followed her footwork, gnashing her teeth against skin. All Atalanta knew was how to hunt, how to fight, how to kill. That was why she craved winning the Grail with all her body and soul—to fulfill her wish without further blood.

But to protect her family...

...doves flocked to and fro, carrying disproportionately-sized pieces of leftover materials for the Hanging Gardens.

 _It is easier to kill your problems than to solve them. These Black Servants won't listen to entreaties or olive branches._

Atalanta hadn't bothered asking Semiramis if she could take them or not, knowing that it was for the better that they don't speak unless it was necessary.

Atalanta poured all of her uncertainty into every shot. She continued to stride and jump with the gales taking refuge in the fortress, sliding from balcony to balcony, Tauropolos drawn, to drown herself in drills.

Boots padded along the stone path.

Forcing herself not to react, her head turned sharply to confirm that indeed, Shakespeare removed himself from the solitude of his workshop. _For what reason—except to cause more chaos,_ was she what suspected.

"[These violent delights have violent ends]. Verdant Archer, what has possessed you to practice so ardently? Aren't you already one of the supreme bowmasters of ancient Achaea?" Shakespeare took a seat on the bench, looking rather smug.

Tauropolos's _twangs_ answered him.

Shakespeare coughed.

Atalanta ended up hurling Tauropolos at the last dove, knowing it'd be able to dodge at the last second.

He had the gall to cough again while she strode to the somewhat vexed bird. It expressed its complaints in a series of long and short squawking but she didn't really care. As Semiramis's familiars, there was already a certain oddity about them, like they weren't natural. Because of that, Atalanta couldn't treat them as animals.

"...I'll keep pestering you until you respond. Do you really want to engage in a war of patience? From the way you traverse each balcony, it is quite apparent to me that you wish to concentrate on this endeavor."

Atalanta muttered entreatries to the bird as she judged the cons and pros, deciding in the end to acknowledge him. "Did you not listen to the report Mordred and Karna bestowed on the priest? Or are you deaf as you are superfluous?"

The rest of the doves settled down, like gossiping old women waiting for the feed dispenser.

 _"Please_ Archer," Shakespeare huffed. "It was a straightforward question."

Atalanta rolled her eyes and replied, "Then forgive me for assuming you were after an unpleasant answer."

"Ah...well…"

She waited for him to continue, but as the seconds ticked on by, he got more self-conscious and embarrassed. After a half a minute elapsed, Atalanta picked up Tauropolos and shot an arrow into the hem of his cape, pinning him before he could muster a response.

He opened his mouth but closed it after tugging at it. "...this is my favorite cape," Shakespeare protested half-heartedly.

"Then take this as an example of what happens when you prod predators." Atalanta shrugged in reproach. "I'm quite frustrated that you are interrupting practice."

Shakespeare ripped the arrow out of his cape immediately in a mood whiplash as he became rigid. "And speaking of which, you did not explain why you want to drill yourself to the point of grinding your bones to dust!" A frenzied light entered his eyes.

Atalanta took a step back in disbelief. _Is he trying to analyze me like Achilles?! Your insolence knows no bounds!_

"—There is no way that you of all people would be so uncertain!"

She reared back further and glared. "Shut up!"

"And you aren't frustrated, but frightened, are you not? Just like a child who's unable to escape into sleep after hearing a scary story!"

"You bastard...!" Atalanta barked out, stalking forward before she realized it to rip him apart.

"What did you see in that mist? What did you perceive? But it's nonsense. No matter what you saw, it is already merely a remnant of the past. We are still ghosts of the past, and if ghosts regret the past, they will morph into vengeful specters—"

She halted.

Shakespeare stood up, his voice filling the water garden with his suddenly spectacular shouts. Rich and full of liveliness, he threw out an arm for her, hand opened.

"—We must live in the future. To devote our bodies to the yet-unseen world. Archer, you also want to see it, don't you? The world that your wish would grant! Even if it tears you apart! Even if means you have to cast aside unnecessary emotions."

 _How did he know?! No, no, no, that's not right but not impossible. He's the greatest playwright, so he understands the inner workings like the back of his hand but that doesn't mean I want that!_

Atalanta snapped, "What I desire of the Holy Grail is equal to my precious people! My power wasn't enough to protect either one. Because of my weakness, my failure, my clouded judgment—I wanted to kill Karna!" She choked as she tried to breathe, to feel the crisp air entering and exiting her throat. Heart leaping into her throat, she choked out, _"...how...how can he still bear to face me?"_

Her heart shuddered under the ministrations of Shakespeare's prodding, which had finally materialized the thoughts she hadn't wanted to confront.

Shakespeare was calmer now as he came closer. "[It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves]."

It sounded as if he was reassuring her even through his insolence. Speechless, her throat grew wet and her heart stopped pounding.

"...by Artemis." Atalanta almost smacked her face, in spite of herself. So she averted her eyes.

Shakespeare wasn't done. "[O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable]. Really, Archer, let us be candid. Please confide in me what ails you."

Atalanta exhaled and inhaled.

"If it pleases you, then I swear solemnly on my pride as a playwright that this will never leave my mouth or pen afterward."

She raised her head to meet his questioning eyes. They were genuine, she knew that much. Then looking down and staring at her hands; she saw them covered by black gauntlets. A long time ago, she launched arrow after arrow at her enemies in these. In a sense, they hid the humanity in hands that had also loved children. "For them and my wish, I'll do anything. For Achilles's sake, I'll materialize my wish so he can witness it. For Mordred's sake, I'll be her family. For Karna's sake, I'll live."

Atalanta squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to slow the palpitations cursing her heart. "I'll kill everyone on the Black Faction if it means I can have both. There is no reason why I cannot still become a beast of calamity without Agrius Metamorphosis. _I just need to_ _be the strongest."_

"Oh my, can you do that with your beautiful hair and nails?" Shakespeare asked in a coy voice.

Her eyes snapped open.

He wisely didn't comment about anything else after seeing the murder in her eyes.

Yet she could help but think about how Shakespeare was one of the weakest Servants in the War and he feared no one.

 _Am I really some helpless animal in the end that can't even strike fear in anyone?_

The day was sunny but a storm raged inside her.

"In the end, you will still mock me for such a pure desire?"

Atalanta moved before Shakespeare could respond.

Blood burned her nerves as she roared and slammed a fist into his stomach.

Stunned, he floundered as she trapped his neck between Tauropolos, yanking him close to her face. His legs folded underneath him as she forced him down.

In guttural tones she whispered, _"I will cut off your head, let it rot down to the bone, and use it as a drinking cup. Do you dearly wish this much for me to end your story?"_

"..." Shakespeare's heart fluttered before flatlining as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, only his retchings escaping.

Atalanta counted down the seconds, her gauntlets dug into the weak muscle of his throat. As welts impressed his rapidly-paling skin, she throttled him, shaking him for good measure. "Well?"

When he tried to talk, she let up on some pressure but kept her hands close.

"...I...y–yield," he forced out.

Her eyes narrowed. "I think it's time for you to take your leave then."

Atalanta moved out of his space and stalked over to where she had paused the hunt while Shakespeare rubbed his neck frantically, apprehensive when glancing at her every other second.

Tauropolos rested in her hands like a familiar club, and she noticed the slight skin fragments hanging off it. ...only those of a beast's build may touch it. Sighing, she formed a small piece of leather cloth and set to rubbing along the string with wax.

"...Perchance, verdant Archer, may I pose one last question?"

"You may."

"When I asked Achilles about his opinion of the love poem, he said that he decided to compromise on that with your opinion—not that I decided to write one anyway." He held up his hands in reassurance after she squinted. "I'm not that invasive, I swear."

It probably wouldn't hurt to tell him and he knew the scope of her anger now. "I think that you'll find there's a certain persuasion when it comes to threats of bodily harm."

He pulled at his collar, loosening it as he tried to respond coherently. "You injured the mighty Achilles?"

"As ridiculous as you appear, you can't be that foolish. I know you understand Tauropolos to be a weapon awarded to me by the gods."

He burst into rowdy laughter, as if it was an inside joke they were in. Atalanta noted with no small amount of satisfaction Shakespeare's jaw trembled. "Then I'll be taking my leave, verdant Archer! May you find comfort in this conversation!"

"The only comfort I'll be taking in is anointing you with my arrows. Do not forget anything about today."

Shakespeare beat a hasty retreat after falling into a shallow bow, which was the only graceful aspect about him.

And then, blessed silence. But she stood there for a while, trying to breathe in and out, as if Atlas had asked her to assist him in shouldering the sky. Her imaginations stuck with the idea of sensations beyond the scope of crushed lungs and bones; to take a dip in the Phlegethon River and come out with melting bones and welded limbs.

She readied a new hand of arrows mechanically. _It's better if I don't think about it. Even if Caster spelled it out for me._ _I just have to be the last one who'll get my hands dirty._

Doves scattered to random spots after picking up new fruit again.

Chewing the inside of her mouth, she had no idea if he would've said something else if she mentioned that she still possessed the remnants of the Calydonian Boar's pelt.

Tauropolos's medley of death chased her troubled mind like a tottering lion drunk on blood.

—

 _O God, I know my sins are beyond reckoning,_ _too great, too gross, too mean, and too many._

 _But I shall confess some small part_ _—a drop, say, of that ocean,_ _and pray that the waves that break with a roar on the rocky shore_ _may yet ebb back into silence as you "hear in heaven and forgive._

 _"I have abrogated your commandments, I have broken your law,_ _I have closed my heart, I have dirtied my mouth with slander._

 _I have exercised bad judgement, I have failed those who trusted me,_ _I have gossiped, I have harbored grudges—_

—Avicebron looked up from his piece of parchment, black ink sliding off his quill.

He had been struck by the sudden desire of transcribing _Keter Malchut, Crown of Sovereignty,_ down again out of an odd feeling that it was about to realized. However, why he was here was due to Darnic's suggestion. _Leisure time,_ Darnic had called it. To replenish what little mana he used up in supporting Spartacus as well but it wasn't necessary. He had sighed to himself. Even though Darnic remained a first-rate example of the clinical Magus, he was a human in the end, so Avicebron found little satisfaction in their conversation once they moved on from the Grail War itself.

Still...he found it preferable to Roche's enthusiasm. He supposed that a part of him envied Chiron for his ability to mingle with peers and pupils alike, even finding passion in passing on his sagely wisdom.

For an always ill man like him, being able to maneuver in social situations would have gotten him out of those frivolous gatherings and return to his workshop.

Though he found that fellow golemancers still existed today was a comfort in itself, but so did his loathing of humanity's idiocy. Roche remained a child and he knew age had nothing to do with cruelty. This arrangement would probably last until he would find the right situation to realize his dreams.

For a while, the sound of dripping liquid had filled the pavillion. But the flutter of beating wings soon accompanied it. White doves flocked to the unoccupied side of the table. After glancing around for anyone in the area, he held out a finger warily.

A large specimen speckled with heather gray hopped onto the offered platform. In its beak was an opaque bottle, a stopper fastened. With a leisurely fashion, he untied the bottle from its neck and then it hopped off, pecking at the table.

"It is unfortunate I don't have bird seeds or any substitutes," he said to himself. "Good heavens," he continued as he unrolled the tube.

Like the arrangement with Roche that suited him for now, the same went for the Black Faction. Both sides of this Holy Grail War can have the Greater Grail if it means Golem Keter Malkuth was able to be created fully. However, there were always the issues of Heroic Spirits winning and having a wish that was detrimental to creating Paradise on Earth. But that required a second culling, of the victorious Faction.

 _[What is it you desire?]_

 _[The salvation of humanity.]_

This reply was a little slower in returning to him.

 _[There appears to be several coincidences in this War.]_

So they'd thought it'd appeal to him?

In the end Golem Keter Malkuth satisfied any requirements. While golems were in a sense, only embryos and falsities, they were still a kind of imitation that meant they could grasp the power just before their fingertips. What he sought was the return of the great king, able to lead suffering humans into the garden of eternal prosperity again.

Avicebron secured Darnic's permission to release the Noble Phantasm as he wished. Finding a Reactor Core was not an issue. Though he preferred to utilize the escaped homunculus, he shouldn't ask too much when substitutes were found here. If possible, he preferred not having to get his hands dirty more than what was necessary.

For a while, he and Assassin of Red began to correspond over the details of their arrangement. _Ethics are hurdles to be surmounted in the end, it seems._

 _[My Master wishes for humanity to be saved, apparently.]_

 _[I'd like to inquire about how they would do so, but I'm certain you will not reveal the details.]_

 _[Truly a wise golemancer you are. Well, Solomon ibn Gabirol, what would you require to activate that Noble Phantasm of yours?]_

The doves shared sight with their puppeteer, then, and with her Master subsequently.

 _[A Magus will do as the core. I have two solutions, so I'd prefer you to avoid killing any of the Masters if you can help it.]_

 _[As if any of the Masters would dare to ride onto the battlefield with rambunctious Heroic Spirits of a high caliber about. But I will acknowledge it.]_

Despite his dislike for socialities, and Assassin of Red's brusque writing, they fell into a conversation about the merits of salvation. He suspected it was because of the topic—there was also the unconventional conveniency of the bluntness directed at each other.

 _[My Master has seen hell at the end of his quest as his reward for a valiant motive. Let's leave it at that. And you?]_

 _[My dream is truly monstrous],_ but he didn't lament over it.

 _[I must be humanity's ally and enemy, if I want to pursue my dream. For the sake of achieving Paradise, it is inevitable that significant casualties will follow. But, if I consider the world's population today, then it is insignificant then.]_

His grip on the quill tightened as he contemplated the fact that there was seven point six billion people on this earth.

 _[Overpopulation. Shortage of resources—lands, food, jobs, and so on. Neverending strife and dystopian regimes. Two World Wars, systematic erasure of people and their cultures, over the color of one's skin. Persecution for love.]_

He sighed from the consternation that followed him from life. Nothing had changed and nothing will until his Noble Phantasm will be activated.

 _[Only the worthy should be allowed to continue. Humanity really is a wretched species, amounting to nothing except being blights upon this earth. A plague. This is the thanks_ _they return to this earth for caring for their ancestors?]_

 _[What a world you envision. Then it let it be sealed in this contract that you may try to achieve your 'monstrous' salvation before my Master.]_

Avicebron wet his quill with ink again, deciding to start on a different poem. The dove that first gave him the message remained perched on his shoulder, tweeting in time with his quill's movements.

It wasn't superstitious to rest on his laurels for him but it should wait until he could breathe life into the Primordial Giant.

 _...My song is a crown for kings and mitres on the heads of governors._

 _My body walks upon the earth, while my spirit ascends to the clouds._

 _Behold me: at sixteen my heart like that of a man of eighty is wise._

—

Sitting on the floor, Atalanta roasted an animal she hunted earlier, eating it with a branch for a skewer. Achilles laid on his back, discussing wrestling styles with a cross-legged Mordred. Karna was the only one who stood, off to the side, looking like an impassive guard for what little it mattered to Semiramis.

"I'm telling you, that's a mistake."

"Little brothers should listen to their older brothers." Achilles tried to ruffle her hair.

Mordred retaliated like a bellicose snapping turtle.

She ignored it and what brought it on—they seemed to have a tendency to settle petty arguments with quick roughhousing, with this marking it the third time in the throne room.

 _...brother? How quaint._ Semiramis drummed her fingers on the armrest as they rolled around back and forth, starting from the wall.

 _So she's found her acknowledgment, has she? Among this motley gathering of simple-minded heroes—they have no issue with taking her in._ She sighed. _I should have foreseen this happening. Her validation rests in the form of Atalanta, Karna, and Achilles._

 _But I would like to see this to the end. It is not as if anything has stopped a human from taking what they want. Certainly, like with Ninus—that thug had only one glimpse before he decided on lusting for my flesh and heart._

 _I must see this to the end._

Amakusa Shirou rubbed his face as he whispered to Semiramis, "Caster is on his way."

Semiramis slowly released the irritated sigh that had been building up for fourteen minutes. "That foolish fop doesn't know the meaning of punctuality. But my expectations for him are so low, that as long as that pet project he had better been slaving away at is functional, he might actually be in my good graces. For however long that lasts."

He chuckled. "He is an eccentric, whether he be a human or a Heroic Spirit, to be fair."

She brushed hair out of her eyes. "If that reassures you, then think of it that way."

Hearing a frustrated growl, they glanced at the source. Achilles and Atalanta were laying on their fronts, arm-wrestling.

"Achilles, if you do not yield right of first advance to me, then I shall regard you as I did to the Calydonian Boar." A vein popped in her chosen arm as she glowered. "I need not say further on the subject as to what would happen."

He snorted in derision and smirked back. "Oh, then you'd better be ready for the fastest sprint of your life to hunt me down."

Noticing a bored Mordred, Amakusa Shirou spoke up. "Are you not interested in becoming the vanguard?"

She shrugged in an uncaring manner. "I'd rather use Clarent Blood Arthur on an enemy Servant."

"Then, who would you be in favor of?" Amakusa Shirou asked.

"Atalanta." She turned to the Archer in question.

Achilles released her hand from and stood up.

"Can't you widen Phoebus Catastrophe's range to encompass the majority of the field?"

She nodded and Mordred snorted.

"There's that. So let her do it. Anyway, I don't want to be on your chariot when it dematerializes after you waste time mowing down stragglers. I'm not interested in being part of the soil."

Achilles's raised brows shot back down to a narrow stare. "Hey." He scowled. "I resent that. At a full mana capacity, I can use Troias Tragōidia for at least six minutes."

"The mana needed to power that Noble Phantasm at worst," Karna commented, pouring oil on the fire. "is enough to summon another Servant."

Achilles threw a betrayed look to Karna who didn't react at all.

Turning to Achilles, she said, "This isn't the best example you're setting up for a younger sibling. So your mana upkeep isn't too terrible compared to Karna's, but still weighty."

The door slamming wide open censored Achilles's vulgar retort.

"Exactly! Does it not add drama to the situation, of how the heroes will triumph? It is not a question of winning or losing, what matters is how they pull off a miracle!" It was the perfect timing for Shakespeare to enter so Semiramis wouldn't have to listen to them bicker lightly anymore.

Or anymore dents in the Hanging Gardens from these play fights—this was a fortress of vanity, not an arena of glory.

Blinking, she was drawn to the item in his hands which the sheathed blade, Miike Tenta Mitsuyo rested. Semiramis arched her brows after sensing the magical energy within it—a Noble Phantasm's energy marked it as such.

Achilles left Mordred's personal space and took a seat next to Atalanta who offered him a meat kebab without looking at him.

"Since we're here now—" Semiramis glowered at Shakespeare who reacted with a sheepish chuckle. "—we can finally get on with discussing our strategy." Before Atalanta and Achilles could start growling for the oh-so-covered position of vanguard again, she continued: "Saber, you are going after Archer of Black, correct?"

Mordred narrowed her eyes and sounded annoyed as she nodded. "Yeah—I'm gonna decapitate him and no one here can stop me."

"How quaint," Semiramis remarked, feeling some annoyance as well. "But that settles it; I am—"

"—going to do our good knight a favor and destroy the forest and then some for her?" Shakespeare interrupted shamelessly. He wiggled his eyebrows as Semiramis stared him down, and everyone else gave him irritated looks.

"And how exactly are you gonna do that?" Mordred scowled at Shakespeare's smirk before meeting Semiramis's eyes. "Assassins like you don't have any grand Noble Phantasms or whatever."

"Hmph. This is the Grail War, so I suggested it to my Master, as a means of showing our prowess. You needn't assume ranking by appearance."

Atalanta and Achilles exchanged dissatisfied looks but didn't say anything else.

"That's true enough...but by the way, Assassin—this is a fortress, and you expressed to us that we are to barricade ourselves in this, so what's the deal here?" Semiramis shook her head and gave a sweet smile at Achilles's words.

"My dear Rider, you are mistaken about the nature of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon." She drew in great pleasure at his dissatisfaction.

Achilles's pupils dilated. "Then enlighten this Heroic Spirit already."

Not speaking, she laid a hand on the gem embedded into one of the throne's armrest, to activate the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Rumbling and shaking ensued as Semiramis stood up, interested in their reactions.

The other Servants exchanged glances as if an earthquake was forming but then it stopped as soon as the fortress left the ground.

"Why don't you go see for yourselves?" Semiramis said before Mordred could comment something rude.

Following that suggestion, they rushed outside while Semiramis, Shakespeare, and Amakusa Shirou walked at a leisurely pace. Though Shakespeare's was more brisk.

"I don't understand why you would like to tease them like this." Despite this, there wasn't any reproach in Amakusa Shirou's tone.

In front of them, Shakespeare made a noise of delight. He must be seeing it already, then.

"It's the only way they'll acknowledge my decisions without having to get my hands dirtier," Semiramis chuckled as they saw the speechless Servants observe the fortress in motion. Even Karna's eyes were slightly widened as he looked down.

"Hey now, what kind of joke is this?" Achilles muttered in authentic awe.

Perhaps then he'll shut up and respect her power then.

"..looks like she's not all hot air," Mordred said with a slight grimace.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said in a sweeping voice and took pride in their reactions to her Noble Phantasm. "Though its speed is nothing to praise, consider the fact that this is an aerial fortress, and you have yourselves a sure-fire boon to victory. Protection would be a waste of its potential."

"Yes," Amakusa Shirou said as he came to stand next to her. Glancing, she realized he was almost quivering in excitement. The shortness to his breathing—the swiftness to his heartbeat, told her all she needed to know.

 _The Greater Grail is almost at your fingertips, I see._

"Everyone, let us prepare for battle. At this rate, it shall be an hour before Yggdmillennia can see us approaching."

The atmosphere formed into fighting spirit, though Semiramis understood little of bloodthirst like that.

Amakusa Shirou turned to Shakespeare who looked as if he wanted to start drafting a poem at the marvel of the Hanging Gardens. "Caster, do you have my sword ready?"

"Ah, yes!" Shakespeare passed the sword to him.

Achilles threw his head backward to see Amakusa Shirou testing the sword. "Hey, Shirou, what are you using that sword for? I've got a feeling that—no…I don't want to say it."

"Man, he really is useless…" Mordred muttered under her breath.

He smiled as he unsheathed Miike Tenta Mitsuyo. While it retained the design and build of a Japanese sword, something inside it gave off a certain quality. "I'm to fight in lieu of Caster. But don't worry, I'm quite refined when it comes to the battlefield."

Semiramis held a chuckle back as Achilles and Atalanta tried to dissuade him. Despite their distrust for him, it seemed they still regarded him as a Master, albeit shady—even though he already became theirs during the other night.

"No, no, no, no, no. I won't say anything bad, but wouldn't it be better for you to remain holed up here like a Master should?"

"He is right, you know. You may have accumulated quite a bit of training, but you are still confined to the level of humans. If you come across an enemy Servant, then it will be the end for you."

Mordred and Karna's stares were less concerned.

"The hell did Caster do to make it possible for that confidence to be true?" Mordred tilted her head.

"Ah! I am glad you asked, my good knight." He ignored her disgust and started acting like he was in a play to draw all their attention. "Archer and Rider, listen. I once wrote this in the past: [The better part of valor is discretion]. And I have never seen anyone with as much discretion as Father Shirou here. Furthermore—"

He thrust his arms outward. "—I have bestowed an enchantment of some note onto this blade. To be clear, it is now equal to a C-Rank Noble Phantasm."

Differing from regular attacks, even a C-Rank Noble Phantasm can be the equivalent of a A or A+ rank normal attack. Even so, a regular Master could not fully materialize this boon. But they didn't know Amakusa Shirou Tokisada. He had told her some interesting tales about the Third Holy Grail War—it was not the result of commanding enemy Servants to commit suicide to grant him victory.

("I only did it twice—on Ramses II, who almost succeeded in taking me with him. Hua Mulan was a little slower when her Master was threatened.").

Everyone else stiffened and erupted into a conversation about Shakespeare's actual apparent usefulness while she was lost in thought.

"Well...I can't argue with that then." Achilles scratched his head in resignation.

Semiramis talked again when a lull finally formed. "Now then. Though we may have our generals gathered, it's sloppy to have zero troops. Even if the enemy has gathered only a mixture of homunculi and golems, they will be somewhat troublesome for us. I am able to produce nigh-infinite amounts of Dragon Tooth Warriors—would that be satisfactory?"

"Don't strain yourself," Achilles's mocking undertones ruffled her.

"As long as I am within these Hanging Gardens, there is nothing impossible for me to do."

Then Amakusa Shirou clasped his hands together, looking like a kindergarten teacher rounding up these childish heroes. Well, she, Atalanta, and Karna couldn't really be counted. "Speaking of which, before we begin, do you mind if I ask why you seek the miracle of the Grail?"

Achilles went first. "I want to live as a hero—so the same as always."

Amakusa Shirou shifted next to her, frown almost resting on his lips.

She did not miss the unspoken exchange between he and Atalanta. The latter gripped her arm that Amakusa Shirou exorcised recently while the former bit his lip almost imperceptibly.

Well, if he wasn't going to comment, then she would speak for him. Semiramis arched an eyebrow. "How surprisingly tame for the great Achilles."

"Shut it, Empress. _This is_ _my decision,_ so don't think that I'll just let that remark go just because we're on the same side."

They glared at each other until Amakusa Shirou intervened. "The concept of 'vulgar' or 'grand' does not apply when it comes to wishes. What matters is the commitment you give to reach it."

 _"Oh, are you speaking from experience, Master?"_ She hid a smile behind a hand.

He dipped his head, masking it as acknowledgment for Achilles.

Achilles clicked his tongue. "I'm tired of having my path decided by the gods. This time, it doesn't matter whether my side is right or not. I'm fighting because I want to fight. For that matter, it'll be with these guys."

"Well said," Mordred snorted.

"And you, Saber?"

Semiramis could only describe the expression the knight sported as perplexed, stumped even. _Oh...have you experienced a change of heart?_ Regardless, Semiramis coveted coaxing the wish out of her.

"I'm going to draw Caliburn and rule over Britain my way," she stated.

At first glance—Semiramis thought this to be an appropriate punishment against the king who never acknowledged her, and to have a bastard rule the kingdom better, is the ultimate backhand. So why did Mordred hesitate?

 _Has your new family changed your mind for you?_ There was also the possibility of her just having second thoughts with an outsider's perspective on it but Semiramis perceived it to be the result of internal circumstances. There was no way that someone could come out of the highly coveted position of being the king's son and slayer only, not allowed to be anyone else, without suffering from mental issues.

Still, she had to hand it to Mordred, for a surprisingly sophisticated revenge plot.

Amakusa Shirou's head bobbed in understanding. "By the way, I don't want to seem rude or out of place, but how are you getting along here?"

"Well...the way I see it, if I hadn't split with my Master then I wouldn't be as annoyed standing here." Mordred made a noise. "There's also the issue of not having my friendships with Atalanta, Achilles, and Karna." Ire showed in her eyes as she rolled them. "You can go ahead and say 'I told you so', or any shit like that if it'll inflate your ego."

"Such things aren't necessary," he told her. "But I'm happy you've found a place here."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and Semiramis fought the urge to cackle.

Atalanta moved to face them. "My wish is for a world where all children are loved. A cycle of life where the young can be raised in the loving care of parents. Anyone daring to interfere with this desire of mine shall receive no mercy from me."

Shakespeare stifled a cough.

For a woman who was raised in the wilderness and grew to think like an animal— _you are strangely human in these affairs. What happened to that extreme realist?_

Though they were both abandoned out of shame by a careless parent and shared pragmatic strategy, that was where the similarities stopped. Semiramis sympathized with Atalanta for her father's folly of trying to marry her off and what happened afterward—and in the end, she found herself mulling over why Atalanta bothered trying to avenge what was already in the past.

It is simple to explain—human nature dominated all that existed.

"Archer, do not take this as offensive or cruel…but that kind of world is a pipe dream."

Primal anger coated her voice and it was exactly what Semiramis expected. "Then why do we seek the Grail? If it cannot grant my wish, then it is not worthy of its name!"

"Sis…" Achilles murmured behind her.

Karna's warning eyes made Semiramis almost roll hers at the show of force. _How idiotical of him to assume he is not vulnerable to my powers. I'll make you regret that insult should you turn on us._

"Oi, Assassin, that's pretty stupid of you to think of it like that way," Mordred growled and Amakusa Shirou took it as his cue to intervene before Semiramis could rise to meet that insult with punishment.

"It is as you say. The Grail will grant your wish in some form." His words placated Atalanta, though she and Mordred glared at Semiramis one more time before backing off.

"By the way, Saber," Semiramis said in a calm voice after soothing her ruffled feathers, finding it worthwhile to inform her for the reaction alone.

"Huh? The hell you want?"

 _That punk attitude of yours is no good either, that's for sure._

"I was made aware that you are a homunculus, so I have the foresight to inform you of what you face on Yggdmillennia's battlefield."

"And that is?" Jade eyes narrowed in distrust.

Semiramis sighed. _We are still allies at the moment, my good knight. No use in acting like an attack dog until we fight._ Resting her head against a hand, she explained, "The bulk of Yggdmillennia's army aside from golems are mass-produced homunculi."

Mordred's face shriveled up into a perplexed frown. _"Hah?"_

Semiramis caught the confused blink from Atalanta and Achilles's facepalm. Karna was stoic as usual though he glanced at Mordred, waiting. Nothing seemed to faze her fellow demigod unless it was related to Saber of Black. And even then, a small smile at that and a miniscule amount of more emotion. _Meatheads. Always the bloodthirstiness with you charitable champions._

But she smirked in satisfaction. "Oh? Have your new siblings not informed you of our enemies? How foolhardy they are, Saber."

Before Achilles could snap at her to "shut the hell up" or any other crude variant, Mordred took matters into her own hands. She shrugged off Atalanta's hand on her shoulder and strode forward.

"Regardless of whether they are homunculi or not—" Semiramis noted the slight hesitation on 'homunculi'. "—they're still participating in the Grail War, so they're enemies to defeat. Simple as that." Mordred finished by shrugging indifferently.

"I wonder, can you hold to that?" Shakespeare said, looking like a villain twirling his auburn mustache.

For a few minutes, Atalanta continued to try and kill him with her eyes for Mordred. Even if Atalanta somehow managed to kill Shakespeare back then, she believed it wasn't any great loss.

Semiramis wanted to laud her for being the only Servant to put in him in his place but she had an image to keep up. There was also the issue of them being on edge with her—so she probably wouldn't accept it anyway.

"Karna, do you possess a wish as well?" Amakusa Shirou asked him as Shakespeare tiptoed over to Semiramis's side silently.

 _Foolish_. she stared at him in disgust. He rubbed his hands together with a sheepish look.

Atalanta's pleased huff echoed while Karna nodded. For some unknown reasoning, Achilles, Atalanta, and Mordred separated from them, falling into a different discussion. They must already know it then. Semiramis didn't give a damn, but as long as they didn't try to break this fortress, it was fine.

"My wish is to wield this spear of mine—there is no desire I have besides fighting Saber of Black, or anyone of a similar caliber." But then Karna stopped, mouth slightly open as if further words rested on the tip of his tongue.

"Hoh? Are you actually unsure?" Semiramis raised an eyebrow. "But just so you know, Saber of Black _is_ incapacitated."

"That isn't the reason why, Assassin." She found herself locked into a battle of wills, between gold and sapphire irises full of sharp intent. _How irritating._

Amakusa Shirou and Shakespeare observed them, with the latter muttering something asinine relating to his works.

Slowly, she smiled, not breaking their stare. "It appears to me that, like Saber, you desired a family of a sorts." Her smile slipped into a sneer as she unearthed a possible cause. "Are you going to force the Holy Grail to realize their desires? Who knows, with your will being your greatest boon, you might actually achieve such a thing—all for the sake of making them happy."

His small smile was uncannily close to becoming knowing. "I could say the same for you and your Master."

Semiramis forced herself to release the startled gasp into a sigh. _To think, this spearman isn't just audacious in his indifference to everything._ Floundering for a comeback, her mind went to his circumstances in life.

"Mind your tongue, Lancer. You are still a charioteer's son. Remember that you are in the presence of royalty."

Anger flashed across his eyes—but so did interest for Shakespeare's. _That Caster is going to be the death of me._

Biting tones accompanied his cold retort. "Indeed, royalty that was gained through marriage and political maneuvering. As you wish, I shall remember it, O Assyrian Empress."

She tried not to scowl and turned away, signaling their conversation was concluded. A small sigh followed and so did the footsteps of golden greaves fading off as he joined Mordred, who was heading back inside. Achilles and Atalanta already went off somewhere, she realized.

And so did Shakespeare.

Amakusa Shirou stared longingly at the horizon as she smoothed her features back into a pleasant smile.

"Even a Saint like you cannot hide your excitement when what you want is right before your eyes. You're still a child in that regard." His trembling and smile ceased at her remark. "Perhaps that boyishness still lives."

Amakusa Shirou turned to Assassin next to him with a slight pout.

"I don't mind as long as you hold yourself back from jumping in excitement. More importantly, Master, if you should die, I will die, and if I die, all of our preparation will amount to nothing. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, of course," Amakusa Shirou answered, sounding far away, making her sigh.

"Despite that, you intend to go out onto the battlefield. I can't fathom your motivation. Right now, you are a Master who supports a Servant. So why are you risking your life by heading to battle?"

There was no problem, but… there was still that one‐in‐a‐million chance of something going wrong. Semiramis had absolutely wanted to refuse Amakusa Shirou from joining the death matches that were soon to follow. But no matter how many times she explained her reasoning, he had stubbornly refused to listen.

Amakusa Shirou responded in a reluctant voice. But as he went on, his voice swelled in his resoluteness. "If my plan is something that goes against God, then I will definitely be struck down on this battlefield. I might have the misfortune of fighting a Servant and dying, or I might let my guard down and be killed by homunculi or golems. I might even get caught up in the blast of an ally's Noble Phantasm."

Semiramis almost started backward as he dropped the constant smile and became absolutely calm in his assuredness.

What she couldn't comprehend most of all, was his lack of hate for anyone that stood in his way. Not even when the famines clawed at the peasantry, the shogun that ordered them to be executed—not even after his arms were taken from him. The arms that brought many miracles.

"If that happens, I will solemnly accept my death. God couldn't forgive me. That is something that I can't do anything about. But if—if everything goes well..."

For a second, she saw a backdrop of hellish flames behind him, casting his face in a solemn light.

Even when she weaved the web of manipulations to poison Ninus, a gamut of exhilaration and more importantly, vengeance, engulfed her. There was none to be found in Amakusa Shirou Tokisada. That had to be impossible—yet there was actually a being in front of her with no hate, love, or fear.

"Then that means God approves of my deeds. That my wish for the Greater Grail, to love and heal all humans is just. If I can be certain of that, I will no longer waver. I will know that there is indeed worth in betraying even what should never be betrayed."

Well...she had been convinced of his willpower but not his motive. She supposed that was the difference between two people in political and active warfare.

"How irritating, that I can't comprehend it clearly in the end. However, if you don't do this, you won't be able to move forward. ...Then it can't be helped. I'll allow it but make sure you survive." Semiramis still couldn't help the reflexive tenseness. _I won't, until he comes back._

"Thank you, Semiramis."

Semiramis erased the odd feeling she was given from his words and smiled to herself. "Leave the protection of the Hanging Gardens to me then and fight to your heart's desire."

For a while they stood in comfortable silence until the hard outlines of the Yggdmillennia's fortress formed. Amakusa Shirou's attention was dragged back to it and she couldn't help but sigh again.

"...It seems that it's time to do Saber a favor." She stretched out her hand and connected to the fortress's defense mechanisms.

Black coffins moved in accord with her mind.

—

Karna hadn't felt that kind of resentment in a while, not since his days with Duryodhana. Though he saw the Empress's nature and accepted it for what it was, the hypocrisy that popped up now and then was another story. She was so blind to the faults she derided in others. He forced himself not to bite his lips as he and Mordred went through the dark hallways.

 _A natural result,_ he told himself. _She has convinced herself with two narrow categories for typical men and women, and I fall in neither. So I am merely a source of annoyance._

Running a quick hand through his hair, he tried to leave it alone.

Meanwhile, she had been rambling about something which he knew not.

But she must've taken his silence as reassurance because Mordred grinned and bumped her shoulder against his lightly after she finished. Karna was more than a little thankful as they lapsed into a comfortable silence afterward, until Semiramis's opulent throne entered their sight.

"I'll go talk with Atalanta like she wants before we fight," she told him, arms folded behind her head as they stopped. "There's nothing else you need, right?"

"Actually, there is something that's been tugging at my curiosity. Forgive me if I error by touching upon this subject, but I believe you had blood siblings in life?"

"The Orkney siblings are a bunch of idiots who couldn't agree on how to fight properly. That's all I want to say about it," she grumbled with no small amount of distaste.

"We choose our friends, but families are another matter." Karna rummaged his brain to find the saying but it yielded nothing. "...or something similar."

Karna still sensed the air of disappointment hanging over her head like a cloak. So with care, he said: "I envy you, sometimes. Even though it's not good at all for someone like me."

"Eh?! Are you for real?" Her arms fell to her sides as she gaped. But her eyes narrowed. "You've got no reason to feel useless."

Karna put that aside. Concern for him shouldn't be the principle topic now. "While you are blunt as a boulder, you seem to at least recognize that it is harmful," He answered and added, "Yet that distinction doesn't seem to halt you very much."

"This is our second and only life. Like we've got the luxury of tiptoeing around the subject." Mordred frowned. "Hey...was Assassin correct in her hypothesis?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes. As you said, we're siblings now. Is it not a brother and a friend's responsibility to help you find happiness?"

"You said I'd be a good king to serve under." Mordred stared at him but looked away and sighed. "If I really look at it...I'm a third-rate knight in the eyes of the Round Table." But she didn't sound to regretful, despite the forlorn note to her low voice. "To my brand of chivalry, I've surpassed my father and everyone else."

Karna tilted his head. "Do you not wish to become king anymore?"

Mordred was silent for a while again and he was content to let her muse. _It's still a difficult subject for her to swallow, then._

After a few minutes, she licked her lips and Karna forced himself to maintain a stoic respect as she took his hand in hers, kneeling. In that moment, Karna saw the image of a silver knight and he was rendered speechless from her sincerity.

"I don't think it matters anymore and it's not like I have a great chance of seeing Father again. He never turned around to see me—and I _hate him even now_ —but I can't let myself drown over absent phantoms. Not when I've got my reasons right here."

Firm posturing and a solemn face guided her words.

"So, I'll be your knight, and you, my spearman." Mordred pressed a kiss to the dorsum of his hand and inhaled, peering up at him with tense eyes. "I entrust my sword, my honor, and my life to you. Even if I was a third-rate knight of the Round Table, will you accept my offer?"

The way her hand unconsciously crushed his told him all he needed to know.

"I accept, Sir Mordred." Karna forced himself to reply and covered her hand with his as well, pulling her up. "But I would prefer for us to be on equal standing."

The huge relief in her grin had him almost frowning from the abrupt realization of how everyone must have seen only her brash side. _Even heritage bares its fangs against others._

"Bah, that was just part of the usual romantic chivalry of my time. Might be irritating as hell, but it's got uses."

Her lips on his skin occupied his thoughts as she left soon afterward, shooting him a broad grin and a wave. Karna raised his hand to stare at where she kissed him even after Shakespeare's footsteps stopped next to him.

"I see, I see! So that's the difference between a stranger and a friend's affection being doled out! A man and a girl born to thankless mothers brought together by the need for family! Ruined by their heritage, they advanced through merit. Though many would assume the man to be the protector, it is the girl who takes up her sword as his shield."

He resolutely ignored the last bit. "I think," Karna said in a dry voice. "That many people would choose to be embraced by those of the familiar category."

Mordred had willingly showed affection in a gentle way. Knowing that, he couldn't help the trepediation of accidentally offending her, with his bluntness.

"Quite so. Though if you do not mind me asking, why are you at ease with me? Or as much as you can without being on guard?"

"I do not trust you completely but that does not give me free reign to be so discourteous. Assassin is another matter entirely since she will not commit to trusting me at all. Moreover, there is no such thing as having a useless Heroic Spirit. Even if you were to die in one hit—"

Shakespeare's eyes furrowed in concern. "—erm—"

"—there are many support roles you can undertake. Such as your skill [Enchant]. You may be able to do anything with the right tools."

"But you must understand; I can't write about myself. That would just be an essay. Right now, I only have the tools to spin other people's tales and cannot write anything besides that."

Karna took it as another clue to the hints of his Noble Phantasm. So it might be related to reliving certain moments of a Heroic Spirit's life. _The others must not be in this man's presence if he unleashes it, then. It's up to me since I have no particularly worrisome memories._

Sighing, he nodded. "…Then it can't be helped. Your goal is to depict the stories of others instead of yourself. Regardless of whether the end of the story is ruin or tragedy, you must write it to the very end. Therefore, your goal is to survive till the very end. Fighting on the front lines is out of the question."

Hearing those blunt words—instead of blanching, he smiled in glee at being understood. Karna was close to being grateful that he didn't offend anyone for once.

"Yes, that's precisely right! I want to witness the ending of this Great Holy Grail War! I must witness it! Whether it ends in fortune or misfortune, or even a despairing truth, watching everyone's story right till the end as a spectator is the duty that I have been charged with!"

"And your survival to fend off the Black Servants for me will ensure it!" Shakespeare's voice dipped back to a normal level as he sidled up to him. "How fares your spiritual core? I realize now, though it granted me some amusement in the short run, I may have distracted you."

"I don't blame you. While highly unnecessary and inappropriate at the time due to my condition, I understood it from the start—

"—[It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover]."

Karna stared at Shakespeare until his smirk faded and averted his eyes, and continued. "As you said earlier, you are a playwright, so it is only natural to want to figure out the extents of the actor's limits."

He nodded furiously. "Listen, Lancer. I took a gander at the _Mahabharata_ for myself, and I've found no reasoning for your conviction of being useless! Indeed! If you, a demigod, is useless, then that would make me less than the dirt we step on! If I, a common-born playwright, became the world's greatest writer, then there is no reason why our ancestors can dictate our roles."

Karna raised an eyebrow, not deigning to comment on that part. If he engaged with this man about his worth, then it'd give him ammunition.

All he said was, "Different circumstances make for different perspectives."

Shakespeare harrumphed. "You should've been concerned with a certain other 'event'; your epic surprised me with the amount of 'death flagging'." He started trying to muffle his laughter, chuckles flickering through. "I was so sure you were to meet your fate before the Kurukshetra gathering!"

"Yes, that does tend to be most people's reactions."

Shakespeare moved away from him so his back was to Karna. "Even your loyalty is laudable to the point of me being able to praise it from the bottom of my heart. [This is the monstrosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite and the execution confined, that the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.]."

"[They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform]," Karna murmured under his breath after some consideration.

Shakespeare whirled around to react with a dramatic gasp. Karna regarded him with a straight face, figuring that anything else would set the playwright off into a spiel.

"I took a look at it when Achilles sparred with Mordred."

"And, how did you like it?"

"I felt myself being occupied with the actual happenings of the Trojan War," he answered. _Love is all the same in any capacity. So there is no use in focusing on nonexistent romantic potential in any epic._

"How cruel…" he moaned as arms kept close to his chest, twisting from side to side.

"What is cruel, Caster, is crafting a story for the sole purpose of retelling tragedies for the audience to weep along with."

Never could he understand why that man had the confidence to quote his works so carelessly. Pride was a foreign concept—the sort of selfish pride held that astounded Karna. His own pride rested in bringing glory to his lord father and Duryodhana.

"Is that so?!"

"Yes."

They ended up wasting time on reading out his plays in the library.

—

She heard Chiron entering first, stepping lightly, as if he retained those grievous injuries. Apparently this did not escape Vlad's attention because he launched into inquiring after the door shut.

"I must apologize, for how your injuries have gotten the better of my priorities. Will you be fully healed in time for tomorrow?" Vlad sat in a velvet chair diagonal to her, while she and Caules flopped themselves on the couch near him, table in front.

Jeanne supposed that if he had a glass of wine to sample, it'd seem like he was taking pleasure in her current misfortunes.

"I believe so. But I must take care by avoiding further wounds if I can help it. It seems my spiritual core's ability to recover has been weakened."

"...Saber of Red's Noble Phantasm is something to watch out for then."

Her face was one with polished wood accompanied by a math textbook and heavily-scribbled papers. Caules flipped through the textbook

 _"Je n'ai aucune idée..."_

 _Thump._

Frankenstein bumped into a table in staring at the room's paintings.

"This looks simple enough to me, but there's a lot of formulas involved."

 _"Maman_ taught me the basics for bartering during market days and that's all, unfortunately." She sighed. "I tried to learn more beyond my name because I believed I required more than memorized prayers to the Lord. Then I found myself being unable to read books at all. Even my Marshall laughed at me after I told him and he promised it was enough."

"Clearly it wasn't." Caules's pen scribbled against paper.

"And yet, you are trying to be studious? What brought this on?" She reluctantly left the sanctuary of her wooden mask as he walked over to her.

"I promised my host Laeticia to finish the math homework for her." Her cheeks could fill in for a sauna.

Chiron laughed. "Unfortunately, I have more experience in fighting and sagely wisdom. Though if you would like a hand in finishing it the old-fashioned way, then I am more than happy to assist."

"This way of learning should be left to the scholarly and those who crave knowledge. There is no use in forcing someone to understand what they do not want to," Vlad remarked.

Jeanne blinked. "But this age allows for the majority to have it in their arsenal, for the sake of it. I think that's a hallmark of progression. Isn't having the option available better?"

"Fair enough," he hedged and looked at Chiron.

"I see you're ready then." He sat down opposite of him.

Vlad gave her a measured look. "Ruler, I wish to ask you for advice on this subject, as a fellow believer of God."

"...if it does not come into conflict with me being neutral, then I'm fine," she said after looking between the both of them. "Um, is it to be the three of us?"

Everyone turned to stare at Caules. Frankenstein continued to look at paintings adorning the walls.

Perhaps sensing the heat directed on his head, Caules looked up slowly, pencil halted.

"...Caules." Chiron coughed in his hand.

He stared into space for a few seconds before realization appeared. Faint blushes blotched his face.

"...oh! My bad, Archer—" after scooping up the papers and book, he scampered out with Frankenstein, but not before telling Jeanne: "Don't worry about it!"

"He seems almost as bad as I am," Jeanne sighed to herself and sunk into the cushions. "My guess is Darnic decided to do whatever it took to see my needs are met."

"He has told me how long he's been waiting to utilize the Greater Grail for Yggdmillennia. Sixty years is quite a long time for mortal lives." Vlad folded a leg over the other. "It is hardly surprising to anyone should he try to increase his success rate."

"And therein lies the topic, Ruler," Chiron said.

"You do not trust Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia then," she guessed. "But isn't he just a pragmatic Magus like many are?"

"He is prone to flattery like any Master with a royal Heroic Spirit—to manage their needs and mitigate aggression." Vlad's smile was thin. "And one of my Noble Phantasms, is something everyone is familiar with—the disgusting name that made my name feared for the wrong reasons."

"Are you asking me to utilize my privilege to prevent this in the case it _does_ happens?"

"This is the only request I have of you." Vlad then hesitated, but got up and murmured the properties of Legend of Dracula into her ear.

"...if you pose it like that, then I can't refuse. That would go beyond the scope of a normal Grail War."

"My thanks." Vlad sat back down.

"I suppose then I should be watching out for him than the other Masters?" Jeanne asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable in the end, having been saddled with an additional task.

Both of them nodded.

Certainly, Vlad's request was reasonable but she believe it should have been too soon to ask her. _For all that the Lord knows, he may be trying to show me his way of respect. There's no reason why he can't be one of those unorthodox monarchs._

Sighing, she continued, "I expected something like this, since learning of how Yggdmillennia provides for their Servants."

Vlad's questions sounded more like orders. "Do you have an issue with the Black Faction's use of homunculi as magical energy batteries? And on the matter of the homunculus who escaped; do you honestly believe he is innocent?"

What should have been the general in her, accepted it as an ideal situation. The farm girl in her accepted it as a misguided venture.

Jeanne kept her voice calm, deciding to go for the second inquiry. "He has told me bluntly that he doesn't want to have anything to do with the War. Additionally, he is not a Master or a Servant, even if Siegfried's heart lives on in him. Therefore Sieg is not a participant of this War."

"Sieg," Chiron muttered to himself before a smile formed. "A wonderful name."

Jeanne nodded while Vlad replied. "He doesn't consider himself a part of Yggdmillennia, then, for you to accept it like that."

"He's different from the homunculi I spoke with a few hours ago and they all confirmed their wills in assisting their creators. So, while they are manufactured...it is still their will." Jeanne tried not fidget under Vlad's stare. "So I must respect it. The Ruler-class Servant hasn't been granted the right to bear arms for those who don't wish for salvation."

"A while ago, a homunculus guard asked me if Sieg was alright. There was definitely some relief in her face when I spoke of his well-being," Chiron commented.

"While this is all true, the fact stands: Servants take priority to bring victory to the Black Faction," Vlad said, not unkindly after seeing Jeanne's unsettledness. "That reminds me. Ruler, I've been mulling it over, and while it's not impossible—it does require a great deal of suspension of disbelief, but is it possible for Ruler-class Servants to have been summoned in the past, but not as the mediator?"

Jeanne wrung her hands together in newfound consternation. She tried not to give away her tumultuous thoughts as she said, "Under excruciating circumstances— _no. Oh, Lord."_ She gulped and forced her jaw to work, the answer's light blinding her in its obviousness. "If...the Einzberns summoned a Ruler in lieu of Assassin and they survived...then that might explain quite a bit when it comes to my locked abilities."

Chiron frowned. "Still, there is the Assassin theory to consider nonetheless."

"Either way, it's two guesses closer to deciphering the mystery of the Red Master." Jeanne's annoyance grew larger than her apprehension after that realization. _If the Red Master is truly a Ruler, then they are not acting as a proper Ruler. Therefore, it is my duty to eliminate them._ "Theoretically, this may be why I have been summoned by the Grail to stop them."

"Whether theory is correct, you still have our support. ...though you still look rather irritated. I apologize for pushing what must be a tremendous burden on you." Vlad furrowed his brows.

Jeanne blinked and waved it off hurriedly. "Ah—there's no need to be concerned!" She fought to control her rising temperature. From a rather unforgiving person like Vlad, she hadn't expected to see that side of him.

He arched an eyebrow, probably seeing through her flailing. "I appear to be an inconsiderate person to most. It is rather detrimental, to say the least."

"Perhaps it is the way you tend to speak your mind and make it known, like a certain student of mine," Chiron teased.

They launched into an entirely different conversation on the merits of honesty and trickery, leaving Jeanne to stew in her thoughts for a while. Most of it consisted of her plans and possible ramifications.

She almost bit her lip. _If the Red Master seeks a disastrous result, then this would not be the Greater Holy Grail War anymore. Red and Black Servants would become Heroic Spirits following a Ruler._ The more she delved into the theory, the more it appeared to be plausible.

The Greater Grail confusing her for another Ruler meant not letting her gain the same abilities completely, as it would consider her a "cheater" in the simplest terms possible.

Jeanne jerked upright. A dull pain coursed through her command spells as she received a revelation. She gritted her teeth and stilled to bear the full brunt of this vision, flashing through her immediate consciousness.

Vlad and Chiron's sudden silence was a faint afterthought. The latter opened his mouth.

 _Blood. Archer's Master. Rider and her Master. Corpse._

Chiron vanished in the next second by a command spell.

Jeanne didn't have to focus at all to sense the new contract between Astolfo and an another Master.

Vlad vanished from his seat, a remarkable display of the Lancer-class Servant's Agility. Doors and walls became casualties as she sprinted after him, putting on her battle attire mid-sprint.

Shaking off the revelation, she steeled herself for an inopportune situation. Though apprehension tugged at her body, her eyes were clear.

Yggdmillennia was in an uproar as she followed his wake. Homunculi and golems were on standby already but the leadership was in chaos. A gauntlet of noises ran amok in her ears. Darnic was nowhere to be seen, but Caules came out to meet her after exiting the castle's new backdoor.

Frankenstein must have already went on ahead then.

Jeanne skidded to slow down when Caules shouted a question, "We just heard Lancer's blitz and came! What happened?"

"Archer was summoned by a command spell—but I must follow!" Jeanne ignored the stunned reaction and resumed sprinting.

Jeanne dashed through the forest, clearing trees acting as hurdles in each jump, praying that she wouldn't arrive before it was too late. Like when she hadn't come in time to stop Siegfried from sacrificing himself.

After what felt like several seconds stretched out into endless greenery, she dug in her heels at the sight of the forest's edge. Grasslands sprawled out from the boundary, almost completely intact if it weren't for the dent-like holes.

She softened her approach with lighter footsteps at seeing Vlad's back to her.

He hadn't even turned around.

Vlad was quietly speaking to a pink-haired girl—Rider Astolfo. While she responded with loud and childish answers, he remained a dispassionate king in search of answers. But Jeanne suspected that inside, he was fighting the urge to skewer her with stakes as the closest target.

Glancing to the side, it wasn't hard at all to find the dead body of who should have been Astolfo's original Master askew. The corpse was riddled with holes, as if a machine gun had peppered her completely.

Jeanne took one look at Chiron's defensive posturing around his unresponsive Master—who had fresh blood splattered over her clothes. Deeming him to be the safer option, she joined him.

"Rider's Master, Celenike, struck out on her own to get revenge on her Servant, it seemed." Chiron didn't look away from Fiore's blank face.

 _She killed the Master, then._

"...this gets more and more complicated," Jeanne sighed to herself before scanning for others present.

There was only one other, a homunculus gawking _—Sieg._

He sat on the ground clutching his sides. He was breathing in such a way that made her own lungs seize up.

"Sieg?!" Jeanne gasped, striding forward to take his hand in hers and checked his body. "What possessed you to come back here? You know the risks you face by doing so!"

"Ruler—I…" he wheezed, as he straightened, and tried to pull her hands off his. "My hand." Sieg withered like a dying plant under her stern stare. "Please see for yourself."

Jeanne pursed her lips in concern and faint annoyance. "...Sieg, I won't pretend to understand why you came back, but—" Slowly she removed her hands and her heart plunged into her nauseous stomach.

Three dragon-shaped command spells covered the dorsum of his hand like a slave's brand.

 _He's Astolfo's Master now. He must participate in the Great Holy Grail War or give up his rights as a Master._ Those were the logical conclusions that came to her.

But—Jeanne snapped to attention when she sensed Vlad approaching them out of instinct. Astolfo followed close behind, tensed.

"The homunculus?" He said to himself in a low voice.

She tightened her grip on her flag. _It may seem like I am betraying the accord but this is a part of my duties!_ But Sieg took matters into his own hands—taut and hard mettle destroying his placid heart like a sudden storm.

"—Sieg. My name is Sieg." His eyes turned fierce and his voice strong which belied his gentle face.

"...of course. My apologies—this surprise has taken the better of me." Vlad said instantly, suddenly not looking like the unmoved monarch he played earlier.

Sieg nodded his head stiffly and Vlad turned to check Jeanne's hardened face.

"To call into question of Sieg's name is to betray the principles I hold in pursuit of my wish's realization. I of all people, should realize it."

"Yes, of course," Jeanne said stiffly before helping up Sieg.

He clung to her offered support like a dog to a stick, looking between her and Vlad's impassive face in gut-wrenching dread.

"...as I said before, Sieg is not a typical Master, so I must intervene," Jeanne said after a moment of silence. "His status cannot be determined until there is time to talk—of which we have little."

"And yet, his Servant is someone whose allegiances belong to the Black Faction." Vlad's words held no malice, but nor did they held forgiveness.

Astolfo opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it after he shifted.

"Indeed, this homunculus is not a part of Yggdmillennia anymore, but he has trespassed onto our territory. Wouldn't you say that he needs to take responsibility for it?" Darnic's arrival had been anticipated and sensed for, but Jeanne couldn't help the wariness.

"I won't let you!" Astolfo barked, barreling forward so she could stand between the two.

In the corner of her vision, Chiron formed his bow.

"Rider, do you mean to commit further insubordination?" Vlad asked in frigid undertones.

"Of course not! I may be a Servant but my Master's safety also comes first as of now. So consider that, _king."_

"Rider!" Chiron managed to reprimand Astolfo before Vlad could spray the grass with her blood.

"Archer, do you stand with Rider and this new Master or with the Black Faction?" Darnic turned to Chiron.

Perhaps this what the Greater Grail meant, when "it goes from zero to hundred". The atmosphere was like a pressurized can waiting to go off.

Chiron moving in front of Fiore was taken in account, from the way Darnic's eyes narrowed. Vlad's stare was close to becoming a glare, though no one knew who the target was.

Jeanne rose to her feet.

"I—"

 _"Darnic! The Red Faction's arrived!"_ Roche's transmitted voice dissolved the tension in one shout.

Everyone stopped and looked to the blackened sky.

There was no way that even vision-impaired Magi couldn't see the hulking fortress looming closer each second.

"I can sense the Master that I have to meet with," Jeanne murmured to Chiron who narrowed his eyes.

"Rider—" Sieg glanced at his new Servant.

"Sieg, my vow still holds true here," Jeanne whispered to him.

Before Sieg could respond, Astolfo suddenly smacked herself until her cheeks turned red and eyes sharpened. "...I'm still a Servant so fighting in this War is a part of my duty in the end," she muttered, though more to herself and turned sharply to Darnic who studied the duo. "...I'll keep fighting for the Black Faction and you'll keep your dirty hands off my Master."

"And that includes forcing him to fight any of the Red Masters," Jeanne added.

"...it's not like we can afford to deal with losing even a single Servant," Darnic said, subdued venom still creeping into his silky tones.

He glanced at Vlad who nodded wordlessly. "I accept these terms," Darnic said to Astolfo who sighed in relief. "Rider, I would have you and Berserker go first to the battlefield from the rear."

"My, my, how troublesome," Astolfo murmured with a conflicted grin. "Master—don't do anything troublesome without me!"

Sieg was too confused to respond, from the dazed eyes alone.

Though Caules gave her a concerned look, Fiore nodded. Then Astolfo, Frankenstein, and Caules departed.

"Rider…" Sieg muttered, looking lost of all sudden.

Jeanne kept his hand in hers and squeezed it. He gave her a strange look but she deemed it to be a result of being a homunculus. After she made him smile with her hands, she understood he hadn't any experience with feeling anything besides the desire to live.

With that settled, Darnic focused on Fiore who snapped out of her stupor, when he arrived. "We'll have to take refuge in the castle, Fiore. We have no choice but to leave the battle to our Servants."

"Alright, Grandfather," she said uneasily.

"Exactly, Darnic. These grasslands are to become the Servants' domain soon," Vlad said. "And it seems, on top of intruding into my lands, the Red Caster has seen fit to spread those filthy skeletal warriors all over. Such insolence must be met with swift judgement."

Chiron regarded at the fortress wearily before turning to Jeanne. "Ruler, what is your plan?"

She stayed silent, pursing her lips in newfound uncertainty. But she still had objectives available to her. "The most important objective is to ensure that I can confirm the identity of the Red Master who ordered my assassination."

"Then will you take up your flag and enter the battlefield?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. If I were to traverse in search then I would disrupt the battles—they may order the Red Servants to go after me, and ignore you, as their supposed opponents. I will remain on the outskirts if possible, until a chance opens up. If they come close enough to steal the Greater Grail, then I will move in."

"And Sieg?"

Jeanne narrowed her eyes. "—shall remain by my side. If I can help it, though. He may be a Master now but please do not forget his original status."

"Of course," Vlad interjected before Chiron could reply.

"Understood," Sieg sighed behind her.

"Then I wish the best of victory's luck to you, my lord. Let's go back now, Fiore." Darnic nodded to Vlad and started walking back to the castle.

Jeanne blinked. Her senses tingled, like a smaller revelation that bled into her mind over time.

 _That is—_

—killing intent swamped their senses. The Servants reacted with sharp glances to the fortress while the Magi stumbled from the unblemished waves.

What followed was a beam of light falling from the fortress's outer frame, razing the forests to the ground. Debris of mostly-vaporized trees littered the new clearings.

No one spoke for a few seconds at the display. That magic could only be from the Age of Gods.

Vlad's face tightened in silent fury.

"It seems Saber of Red decided to have her grudge dictate Caster of Red's advance," Chiron remarked in a half-dry, half-amazed tone.


	11. Chapter 8

**A/N: Put up the wrong version earlier.**

* * *

" _Yes, that's exactly right. We will win! As if anyone who falls before this degree of difference in battle power, this degree of despair could call themselves heroes!"_

The speech he gave to the remaining Black Servants filled him with unease and comfort, especially in how they proved they were true heroes, by not showing fear of losing.

It formed from the similarity of the condition of his forces when the Ottomans came. Mehmed II's desire to seat his revolting brother on Wallachia's throne only served to energize the will to continue fighting against an army of more than a hundred and fifty thousand strong with his ten thousand men, women, children, foreign mercenaries, and Romani slaves. All of different ages and stature.

While Jeanne was far from the false promises of King Matthias, who had never aided him against the Ottomans until the end, he could not help but wonder if she could be convinced by false evidence and take action against him.

But he had to take the Saint's words as the truth.

The morale of him and his army didn't matter. Even if more and more Wallachians had deserted to the Ottomans, he would still impale his enemies on stakes.

 _As long as I am alive, I will remain as Wallachia's hero. It does not matter if there is dwindling protectorates. Not while there are still lands and people to defend._

He kept those thoughts close like a collection of protective prayers as he galloped forward with Avicebron's golem horse.

Yet, he considered it a turn of good fortune that Caster of Red did not blast the approaching Black Servants with those black coffins surrounding the fortress. It left him to free to do as he pleased with the rousing swarms of Dragon Tooth Warriors.

Vlad approached these enemies as usual in life.

"Come, savages who trample over my territory! It's time to discipline you! I'll turn my compassion and rage into red‐hot stakes and skewer you all! And these stakes are not limited, but truly infinite, so despair—and gorge on your own blood!" The ground shook slightly and he grinned. "Kazikli Bey!"

He effortlessly skewered the approaching Dragon Tooth Warriors in an eerily accurate replica of the event that bestowed his moniker.

Countless of these rank-and-file soldiers had their jaws crushed by stakes soaring for the heavens, hoisted up.

He held a wry smile back. Remove the monstrous aspects of what must be Caster of Red's creations, and you'd have a perfect array of skeletons left to rot on his stakes.

There was a certain kind of joy to be found in this; for he considered it the better cruelties of warfare to commit. Impaling one's enemies on stakes was a shot at the opponent's desire to continue fighting, and it was something he decided himself. That disgusting reputation of his in the literary world was something he had never asked. _Those foolish authors turned a valorous hero into a blood-sucking monster for the sake of mere entertainment._

Looking to the side, he observed the two Red Servants making a beeline for him at breakneck speed as a response to his first move. Atalanta and Karna, judging from their bow and spear, then.

While gripped by a strange joy over fighting a Servant of the same class as himself, Vlad aimed at them and summoned his stakes. Grassy plains resembled a maze of stakes soon enough but Atalanta's nimble dashes evaded them.

Frowning, he formed a stake that shot up in the place her feet would land.

In the same second she nocked an arrow while gripping the stake, coiling around it like a monkey and fired the arrow at him.

More stakes piled up before Vlad, blocking the subsequent barrage. She grimaced in annoyance but lowered her bow.

Meanwhile Karna stood upon a lonely stake at a distance, studying him with calm eyes.

"I suppose you're Lancer of Black—Vlad III?" He stated.

Vlad put the matter of Atalanta aside as he turned fully to reply. "Oh? So you who calls me by my True Name must be Lancer of Red—Karna."

"Correct. For certain reasons, I must defeat you. Don't think ill of me for it."

"No, no, there's no need to think ill of either of us. You people must kill me, and I must kill you all. It's tragic, but that's how reality is. Besides, it is my duty as a king to kill those who invade my country. So there's no need to grieve."

Which is why a stake shot out in front of Karna's eyes.

The divine spear that he held destroyed it. "I see. These stakes really are your Noble Phantasm but these numbers are abnormal."

Quantity—that was the greatest characteristic of this Noble Phantasm. The number of stakes he could potentially summon equaled approximately twenty thousand. Vlad could easily summon five hundred stakes in three seconds, and although he could only summon forth a maximum of two thousand stakes at any one time, he could limitlessly keep producing them so long as he had the energy—via the homunculi.

Vlad didn't respond, letting his stakes respond. That mana swirled around him as he readied himself to impale these enemy Servants.

"Lancer!" Atalanta called to Karna who bent his legs to jump.

"Now then, you criminals who have trespassed upon my land without my permission; it's time for your judgement. Die on the battlefield along with those garbage Dragon Tooth Warriors!" Vlad flicked a finger upward slightly.

An airborne stream hunted Atalanta as she leapt into the air, continuing to fire arrows he blocked with a fortress of stakes.

Karna brandished his divine spear in smashing these stakes but found himself up against a hurdle.

"So destroying them is meaningless, huh?" His brows furrowed as indeed, the broken stakes simply started anew from every end.

Vlad smiled to himself as he decided to focus on the Red Lancer. His soul strung gospels of glory during this fight.

It culminated into a deep aria, when a reverse avalanche of stakes trapped Karna in place by pinning him mid-flight. He met Vlad's gaze calmly despite his arms being yanked to the side, unable to twirl his spear.

Vlad smirked in respect at this man's nerves of steel.

"What marvelous armor you have." He jumped onto a stake reaching for the sky and veered it to meet him.

"Lancer!" Atalanta called and a barrage of high-speed arrows met a wall of stakes.

Not a second later did a muddy stream of stakes start to chase her, forcing her to take defensive measures.

He could not afford to allow her any openings. In night's cover, in the dense and thick forests, in little room for error, Atalanta shot Siegfried in the chest with an arrow containing A-Rank power. Any great Archer could accomplish any of those listed. But this Archer had achieved all three simultaneously. Vlad fancied not finding out what would happen if she got a hit in.

"But it's useless if I'm this close," he finished, angling his spear at Karna's throat.

Blinking, he suddenly registered the absolute calmness of Karna's face. _Regardless, you've left yourself open!_

Vlad thrusted his spear at his throat when Karna's body started to shine through the night's cape, breaking it through [Mana Burst]: Flames which scorched the stakes restraining him into ashes. He managed to retreat at the last second but his immediate attention was stolen by Atalanta's movement.

"Oh?" He whispered to himself while she avoided the falling flames and scooped up Karna in a bridal carry.

She skidded after landing, digging in to avoid a wall of stakes waiting for her and leapt again to land on an untouched boulder. Her verdant eyes penetrated him with unrestrained anger.

Vlad straightened his posture even more on his golem horse, meeting her gaze calmly. He held off from attacking them, to allow her a moment because that reckless charge into the inferno had been out of utter concern. It was better to let them think he wouldn't take advantage of it, and exploit it after another opening.

Surprisingly, Karna didn't move, instead breathing a little harder than usual. That divine armor and spear and holy flames must have taken a chunk of his mana then. Top-rate Heroic Spirits still had their downfalls, it seemed.

Sighing in exasperation, she said to him, "You could've done that from the beginning if it weren't for earlier."

A gentle smile formed. "But I would not be fighting alongside with you if I hadn't."

"...let's go, Lancer," Atalanta murmured after she set him down.

Vlad squashed the sympathy into bits; he could sympathize all he wants after he defeated the both of them. If nothing else, he could acknowledge the strong bond between two great warriors. But this was war, and one cannot expect honor and dignity in one's defeat or victory.

"Come, then." He raised his hand. "The lord of this lands beckons for you to fight him."

—

"You lot aren't much of a match for me!" Achilles called as he wreaked havoc on the field.

Exhilaration sang ballads of promised battles to him inside his heart. _Mother, I vow to continue being the greatest hero on this battlefield._

"Are you _sure_ these acrobatics is worth the mana consumption? C'mon—" Mordred stopped and adjusted to the sudden barrel roll.

He laughed at her baleful stare searing his back. "Don't you want the honor of breaking the army?"

"These are small fries idiot—"

"—oi!"

Mordred went on in a louder voice. "I'm sick of waiting for Archer of Black to show his face already." She glanced back at the Hanging Gardens which Semiramis seemingly decided to have it stay in place. "I feel like we made a mistake, letting Assassin pull ahead of us like that."

A reflexive [Red Thunder] from Clarent disrupted a volley of arrows form homunculi archers.

"So we'll just have to end up with the highest body count!" Achilles laughed again as he held the reins his chariot in on hand, spear in the other.

Troias Tragōidia became a galloping streak of blinding green light mowing down the homunculi and golem ranks.

After the chariot streaked across the ground, ripping up dirt and stone, he took to the skies again. And that was when he indulged himself slightly in acrobatics for Mordred. Mostly a bonus to see her reactions but he took more care to avoid getting his chariot stuck, to deploy it as long as he could.

"Ha!" she crowed in a rising lilt. "There's nothing wrong with that thinking anyway!"

There was a disturbance in the sky. He snapped his head to the right, seeing a pink speck shift in the air but not toward them.

"Uh…" she trailed off as they simply observed Rider of Black fly to the looming Hanging Gardens.

"Well, if Assassin can take out the forest, then she can take care of Rider of Bla...wait." Achilles squinted at the pink speck again and magical energy gathering from the black coffins. "...well she's definitely not a figurehead monarch."

"No shit." Mordred scowled, probably remembering how Semiramis destroyed the forest.

Achilles scowled too. That Empress still got on his nerves in the end even if she had the power backing her damning title.

Moving away from that subject would do them both good. "By the way, didn't your Master complain about the battle with Archer of Black?"

"My Master hadn't complained at all about the mana I burned up in healing my eye," She responded in a slightly annoyed voice. "Had he been a typical Magus, then I wouldn't have cared. But he isn't."

"And yet he responded sometime before, right?" At her nod, he continued. "You think Shirou did something to the Red Masters, along the lines of mental interference?"

"Master hadn't anything tying him down so we can cross out hostages and blackmailing." Mordred started grumbling to herself. "God—the more I consider it, the more it looks possible."

"We'll go wild here in either scenario," he remarked.

Mordred's answering grin slipped off as the chariot went past a fallen homunculi horde.

"Ugh...man, that's seriously uncomfortable to see." she grimaced as she gazed down at a homunculus's corpse. "They're like dolls."

"You fine?" Achilles asked.

"Yeah, I might be a little biased in homunculi affairs but if they're weak enough to die like this, then it can't be helped." She emphasized it with a shrug.

"Well, just be—" Achilles threw his head back so the arrow aimed for his eyes missed. His pulse accelerated.

"I don't believe this is the time for you two to be chatting like this."

A maze of golems shot up from the upturned dirt. On reflex, he brought the chariot back to the sky so they could see Chiron using the homunculi and golems as a makeshift forest.

Before Achilles could respond, Mordred hollored _"Archer of Black!"_ like his mere voice had slammed down on some trigger using a hammer.

"That's quite a pair of lungs on you," he commented but kept Troias Tragōidia moving.

If he didn't play into Chiron's words, then he wouldn't have to fight him. _Not unless it calls for my support,_ he told himself.

His pulse didn't stop rising with his heart.

 _...I'm kidding myself._ He tried not to groan.

Meanwhile, she released a repertoire of insults that must've been pent-up anger. Chiron's calm refutations made her all the more determined to kill him.

"Hey, drop me off when you find an opening," Mordred ordered.

Achilles rolled his eyes; he was somewhat relieved she hadn't noticed his stiff shoulders. "Keep that kingly charisma in check and I'll think about it."

He landed the chariot back onto the ground anyway.

"Huh? You still consider me a king?" Underneath her helm she must be grinning fearlessly at him and bent her legs to jump.

"The king of lions," he proclaimed while tightening his grip on the reigns and made a sharp turn into a mostly empty gap.

Mordred released scathing laughter as she leapt into the fray, running around like a silver cannonball.

 _You'd better get a kill out of this_ , Achilles thought in consternation as the golems took advantage of his dulled speed and dissolved into a strange liquid that immobilized his horses' legs by hardening into a purple crystal formation.

Spear and sword in hand, he turned the approaching homunculi squad into corpses.

 _I should go check out that Servant._

Since Chiron was occupied with Mordred, he felt no qualms about exposing his heel to the enemy by stepping off the chariot, letting it return to spirit form.

Deciding to go after the felled Rider of Black, Dromeus Komētēs made his body light as air, while he crossed the battlefield in a single breath. Golems and homunculi alike fell before his unsurpassable speed and he reveled in the familiar pleasure before slowing down at the sight of Rider of Black sitting in a daze. A wave of dirt rose and fell after his swift feet ceased. Rider of Black flinched and whirled around.

 _Why is she slapping her face…? Hey, that's cute and all but this is a battlezone._ Achilles shook it off, forming his spear.

"I saw our Assassin shot you down some minutes ago. Pretty impressive how you survived that—but you've landed in the jaws of this beast and you look like hell." He pointed his spear at her.

"Rider of Red...Achilles..." she said, somewhat distracted as she got up and moved back.

Achilles stepped forward for every step back. "Yep. I'd challenge you to a race but it looks like your steed got blasted into oblivion."

A jousting lance with golden lines formed in her hands and she hefted it up. "Well, I'm still a Servant, so you'll have to settle for that."

He met her confident smile with a leer from predatory bloodlust.

—

Jeanne looked away from the battlefield when the words registered.

"Excuse me?"

"I want to save the homunculi," Sieg repeated. "Since you escorted me to Serge's house, I've been thinking about it. If I can't do anything else than live a peaceful life, then I might as well try."

" _Sieg."_ Jeanne tried her hardest not to facepalm. _"But you can't do that by walking into the enemy camp and then getting killed for it."_

Sieg remained unmoved. "It's better than living out the rest of my short life on an idyllic farm, knowing my sisters and brothers are being consumed for raw mana." He rested a hand over his sheathed sword as if to emphasize his suicidal determination.

"And I can't argue with that—but you—you need to have plans!" Jeanne gave up and dragged a hand over her face at a snail's pace.

"Listen," she started once she felt like she wasn't going to throttle Sieg by the neck. "I can't place my faith in the Black Masters—Lancer and Archer are trustworthy, at least—so I'd like you to not start the 'negotiations' unless I'm with you to serve as an arbitrator."

Sieg nodded stiffly after a silent moment. "Do you mind if I ask why you're going to so much trouble for me?"

"No, that's fine." Jeanne blinked and took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Well, you're a Master who doesn't want to fight in this Great Holy Grail War. That's my primary reason—I cannot let anyone forget that you never wished to participate, before you contracted with Rider of Black."

Her heart did not exactly falter at Sieg's stark surprise; it did, however, shudder at it. She had to remind herself that only Astolfo and Chiron by extension, had really lavished him with positive emotions.

"Thank you," Sieg said.

At first, having Sieg stay by her side while waiting for the Red Master to make their move was the best course of action. As long as she held her holy flag in her hand, she knew she and Sieg would be safe from the Dragon Tooth Warriors and most Servants gathered.

...but her EX Rank Magic Resistance didn't negate spells thrown at her; they were pushed away from her and affected her surroundings. That was something she hadn't considered with an additional person.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon must have locked onto her presence as soon as Jeanne and Sieg made their way to the outskirts, away from the Black Camp's holdings because their supposed "safe" spot became oversaturated with malice.

Sieg froze up while she spun around to meet the incoming beam of light head-on, holding her flag above her head.

"Get away from here!" Jeanne cried out.

Snapping out of his stupor, he managed to scramble out of the way and that the last of her sight.

"Kuh!" Her vision became a blinding whiteness as she simply endured it, forced somewhat into the ground from the power behind it.

"Ruler!"

It was like dropping a bomb from the sky; even the Saber-Class Servant couldn't shrug it off.

The vague sound of cackling lightning rushed her ears and widespread destruction eased her vision back into focus.

"Sieg, did you get caught up in it?" Jeanne asked once he stumbled back over to her in awe.

Taking on that beam didn't tire her out in the slightest. But she needed to consider Sieg's safety.

"..uh, yeah...I'm fine." He tried to smile reassuringly but it came off just as awkward as the first time. "But Ruler, that was Caster of Red, right?"

She nodded. "To make it short, the Red Faction has been trying to assassinate me. I suspect it is in order to break the rules for some future plan." She added, "But you shouldn't concern yourself with that! Focus on your own goals first," when he seemed to object.

"If you say that, then I can't argue with it," Sieg muttered.

 _Now was not the time to teach him more lessons on life._

"Um, so back to our topic—" Jeanne stopped when she sensed the malice refocusing—Caster of Red's attempt to finish the job, she realized as she yelled at Sieg to get away.

Her flag remained sturdy and strong in her hands while she endured the magic-infused light again.

Continuously.

But the Red Caster kept angling it at certain areas in such a way that prevented her from escaping this assault.

 _Are they buying time?!_

"Sieg!" She shouted once there was a brief break. "I hate to say it, but you must go on ahead!"

"I'll be fine!" Jeanne added after glimpsing his concerned face.

"Alright! I'll go find Rider!" Sieg called and left.

Once he was gone, Jeanne muttered a curse—even though it was bad manners, the constant stream of these attacks and one-sided fights from the Red Faction was more than irritating at this point.

—

From the start, it had been like slaughtering a defenseless opponent. Achilles dominated the fight, easily sweeping his sturdy spear against Rider's jousting lance. If Rider wanted to flee on his Hippogriff, then Achilles would run him into the ground with Troias Tragōidia.

Golden sparks jumped off their weapons' points after each clash.

He kicked out occasionally and Rider grew slower every passing round as he was forced to dodge his random strikes.

Two things had stopped him from outright killing the enemy Servant. The first: while his accumulated battle experience and survival instincts were nowhere near as powerful as Mordred's which were like physic perception, it was enough to not let him get hit by that lance.

It was probably a Noble Phantasm's effect that might incapacitate him long enough for other Black Servants to converge onto the scene and try to kill him. If Chiron had been summoned—then there might be other exceptions to Andreias Amarantos's regulations summoned. Though he relished the risk, now wasn't the time to release his bloodthirst completely on them. The Black Faction would be obliterated and everyone except Shakespeare and Semiramis would hate him for stealing the fights.

Achilles wasn't that stupid.

The second: initially, he faltered slightly as he had thought Rider to be a woman, but the absence of breasts cemented his assessment.

 _He's not Penthesilea_ , he chided himself and launched a spinning round kick at him. _Doesn't matter if he's just as short._

Rider grunted as he jumped over it and they continued to dance around each other. If Achilles tried to end the fight by dashing in, Rider could get in one last hit. As a result, his dodges and slashes were less powerful and wider. He couldn't quite put his full strength into it.

...but it was really boring, punting Rider of Black around, waiting for him to slip up so he could drive his spear home. Achilles almost groaned in frustration.

Mordred must be having fun wrestling with his mentor and Berserker of Black, actually getting action unlike him. So far he'd only killed disposable soldiers.

Achilles wanted to shed blood.

Sighing, he knew he'd have to take a page from Atalanta's book about patience.

"Oh, Rider," Achilles said as they locked their spears again. "What on earth happened to Saber of Black? Asking for a friend," he added as Rider became confused.

"Well...you could say that he died from an internal struggle—but from his perspective, he stuck to his beliefs as an ally of justice, I guess?"

Achilles had no words for a moment at the sheer stupidity. Sure, Saber of Black did as he wanted in his second life, but _damn._

"I'll admit that being selfish is a part of life that I can appreciate but killing yourself for just one random life?!" His grin turned feral as he suddenly forced him backward with a kick to the side and aimed the butt of his spear against Rider's head.

"That's far from the glory all heroes seek before dying!" He declared. "It's an insult to all the sacrifices made before the crossroad of fate!"

Rider was forced to jump into a roll and when he came up, it was like the atmosphere had undergone a one-eighty. His face tightened in fury. _That's good_ — _face your enemies head-on like that and die grinning!_

"I won't deny those archaic ideals of Saber but I won't let you talk about him like that—damnit! A hedonistic demigod like you has no right to talk about him!" Rider shouted and burst forward, thrusting his lance out.

They continued to cross spears but Rider's strength was unquestionably waning.

He yawned on purpose, wanting Rider to show him more of that rage. "Then go ahead and try. But know this mountless Rider, that you would need to bring all of the Black Faction's might to even scratch me!"

"All I need is my lance to bring you down for those careless remarks!" Rider snarled back.

"We'll see," he purred.

Rider's desperation saved him for a few extra seconds before Achilles got to take advantage of an opening.

However, his looming defeat was not the reason Rider's movements dulled and shock filled his dainty features.

 _Why do I have the feeling—_

His head turned sharply.

A human-shaped frame manifested in the corner of his eye. Though the homunculus wore different clothing from the rank-and-file soldiers he saw earlier.

A voice born from desperation rang out. _"I order you to survive!"_

Raw mana swelled inside Rider.

At the last second Rider's torso twisted so his spear nicked his side.

Achilles groaned from utter frustration and backed off for the moment. Another command spell might actually tap him with that strange lance.

The homunculus glared at him, presumably for injuring Rider of Black.

Achilles blinked before smirking back to welcome the hatred directed at him. It was no different than when he refused to fight for Agamemnon and faced all the Achaeans' ire head-on.

"Master! You idiot!" Rider yelled, using his lance as a crutch, panting. "Why did you come here?!"

"—but Rider!" He protested. "You're in danger—"

"—so are you! I didn't save you just for you to waltz off into danger _again!"_

Yet there was a feeling he couldn't exactly shake off. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he tried to focus on the homunculus's heart as they bickered— _not the time, you two, but I'll let it slide for now._ They reminded him of his arguments with Patroclus, and Aias and Diomedes.

Killing Masters to win wasn't high on his list of priorities. Far from it; it'd be disgraceful and boring. But in this case, this homunculus brought it on himself.

Achilles rested his spear on his shoulder. Blinking, he felt drawn unconsciously to where the homunculus's heart laid.

 _Damn_. There was something odd about the heart.

Though he hadn't seen Saber of Black for very long, there was the two dragon-shaped command spells on the homunculus's hand and the odd spiritual signature. It was like his instincts were telling him that he was a—

"...so Rider of Black really wasn't lying about Saber of Black's sacrifice...huh." The homunculus's heart must be from the disappeared Servant, then.

And he contracted with Rider of Black. Internal affairs must be common for the Black Faction. First Saber, now Rider.

 _An afterimage of a powerful warrior…_ , he sighed and worked his jaw around the even more sighs piling up. Karna was going to be _disappointed._

"Oi. What's your name?" At the very least, Mordred couldn't lynch him for acknowledging this kid.

"Sieg." He looked confused, as if he hadn't been expecting it.

But then Rider chastised his Master again and they were back to the previous argument.

Deeming them to go at it forever until interrupted, Achilles coughed to get Sieg's attention again. "Seems like it's a waste. What use is that life given to you if you're just going to throw it away? Shouldn't you be living somewhere in peace, making use of Saber of Black's sacrifice?"

Sieg inhaled and moved to stand in front of Rider.

"...I had to come—"

"—to rescue Rider, am I right?"

"Yes," he answered instantly. "He's the one who saved me. So your opponent is me!"

" _You're gonna be a...agh...a savior to a hero?!"_ The laughter bubbled over before he could put a lid on it. He doubled over from throwing his head back in unabashed hysterics. "Aren't you his Master? You'll both die!"

Their ravening glares pierced him but he couldn't care less.

There were so many things he found wrong with Sieg's declaration. For one, a hero cannot give his all for the sake of the people—not when there is evil to be defeated and blood to be shed. _He's wasting his time._

"You don't even have potential. Perhaps if you were to somehow turn into Saber of Black, then it'd be worth the risk. But as I see it, there isn't even a single achievement you could etch into stone here!" Achilles let himself be swept away by this uproar. "It's a shame that Saber of Red isn't here. You might even escape. Though I can't guarantee your limbs."

Sieg glared before charging him, slashing and yelling: "Like that matters now! Isn't that what it means? To live is to chance risk! There's no way that I'll run from here as long as I can do something!"

Though he must have realized his invulnerability within the first few hits, Sieg didn't let up.

Achilles wiped a few tears from his eyes as the mirth ebbed out. "That ill intent of yours is excellent. Why don't you give in to it more since you'll be dying here? Then I can send you off to Hades with a grin."

"Enough!" Sieg yelled.

 _You're not being very considerate to your Servant. Man oh man, what is with the people of this time? But since you're so careless to step onto the battlefield like this, I'll make sure you take responsibility._ But a still-growing part of Achilles was irritated, that Siegfried died for this homunculus so Karna wouldn't get his second fight.

"Seriously, it's a waste," he huffed.

" _Don't you dare do such a thing Red Rider!"_ Rider of Black struggled to his feet, fear carved into his face.

Achilles rejected it by shrugging, indifferent to his threats.

Hearing the distant roars of frustration from Mordred's raging really did nothing to settle his bloodthirst. A bestial howl followed it. Then there was the sound of a full body impact complete with armor.

 _I wanna join too…_ but Achilles never whined unless he had to. _She's got this, but even that Berserker looks more fun than this Rider._

A sword was sheathed.

He assumed a punch from Sieg was what landed against his cheek. Though his fury and speed didn't change, that was what settled it for him. His blustering was starting to bore him.

Sighing, he looked down. "C'mon, you're going to have to try harder."

Sieg opened his mouth but Rider of Black's shouting drowned it.

"Rider!"

Scratching his head, he glanced at Rider of Black. "Then stand. Take up your lance. Give me all your hate. And stop me." He grinned broadly.

"Master!" He screamed in a raw voice as he sprinted to them.

Sieg overextended. _That kind of blind love for his companion is something_ _I can at least relate to. Not that it mattered in the end._

Achilles ducked under it and drove his spear into his chest—something hard bit into both of their shoulders.

"What?!" He blanched.

Two arrows had landed in the small of his back and shoulder. He stumbled and it was all his mentor needed to kick him in the side.

Visceral pain left him open—Chiron yanked him onto his shoulders and spun him 'round and 'round till finally launching him.

"Agh!" Achilles hated how he went flying into a ditch, limbs askew.

 _That was bad_ , he thought. He was like clay in his mentor's experience hands.

"Oh, thank goodness! Master!" He heard Rider of Black's voice tinged with relief.

"...tch," Achilles muttered from where he laid, stunned. "Couldn't even finish the job."

He drew in a long breath as he raised his head to watch Chiron after removing the arrows.

—

Upon further inspection, Chiron determined the cons and pros of the forest. But the cons outweighed the pros vastly. While Caster of Red couldn't exactly raze every tree around for miles, the closest to the chosen battlefield were eradicated. If he did battle with a Servant, then the both of them would be slow to respond for aid.

But his mind wasn't concerned about that currently—his Master, Fiore's mental state worried him. A prodigy Magus unsuited to the clinical ways of Magi, it was a frustrating sort of irony. She appeared to be somewhat conflicted on the outside; as expected for her first kill, to Darnic. Inside, terror must be reigning. Leaving Fiore alone with him raised his hackles and he at least hoped, that Gordes could support her if necessary—even if it was a shaky relationship.

Had the Red Faction arrived later, he could have mitigated the damage to her psyche. However, Chiron wouldn't miss Celenike's presence around the Yggdmillennian fortress, having been informed by Astolfo of what she wanted to do to the duo. he were to lure an opponent into the lush greenery, then the both would be cut off from other Servants, based on distance.

Wild roars ripped him away from his thoughts and out of his hiding place. Chiron moved again while sending more arrows to her.

"Archer of Black!" Mordred howled. "Get your ass out here right now!"

She reenacted their first fight, by storming around and breaking golems in half with a few punches. Like a tantrum, he assumed.

He refrained from giving into the urge to refuse.

But they weren't getting anywhere. He wouldn't get caught by her [Mana Burst] and her armor prevented most of his arrows from hitting flesh. However, the Antares Snipe had done more damage than he thought; she seemed reluctant to bring out Clarent Blood Arthur and mow them all down in one go.

A total impasse.

So, Caules's intervention was a gift from Zeus's benevolence.

" _Archer, we're coming in—I'm going to use a command spell."_ Caules's voice came in loud and clear.

He frowned. _"Are you sure?"_

" _Rider's in trouble, right? And his new Master ran—"_

Anticipation splashed over his stiffening nerves.

" _Do it."_

" _Roger that."_

Little time was wasted after Frankenstein materialized onto the field, screaming at Mordred while swinging her mace wildly.

To her credit, the silver knight didn't falter after being caught off-guard.

"More small fries?!" Mordred growled.

Her sword and the mace clashed together to create a medley of metal scraping against metal.

Chiron darted around, avoiding her irritated howls for blood. _Good grief. What a rambunctious Heroic Spirit._ He scaled a golem and used its head as a platform to burst out of the area in one jump.

As soon as he landed, he started running. Nocking two arrows, he sped up when he sighted Achilles, unaffected from Sieg's assault. Instantly, disappointment of the fatherly kind for his idiotic pupil's decisions clumped together. Hedonism had been many Greek heroes' flaws—little bits of hope stayed whenever he took on a student, that they wouldn't fall into the trap of luxury. That guided his arrows into Achilles's shoulder and back. Kicking and flipping him in the efficient style of Pankration relieved none of the coiling tension.

Astolfo tended to Sieg's shoulder as he came closer. It wasn't serious from what he saw, but deep enough to warrant minimal movements.

"Sieg, that was incredibly reckless—even you should have realized it sooner," Chiron sighed.

"...but Rider—" Sieg clutched his injured shoulder, gasping. He didn't continue until his breathing evened out. "I'm a transient existence that'll fade in a few years. If I can do anything at all—then I have to go through with it."

"Master! Do you really believe you're worthless when you're not being proactive?!" Astolfo griped as he tried to cover the wound with scraps from his cape. "Isn't being alive enough?"

"...I don't know because you're the only one besides Archer and Ruler who cared about me. I'm pretty sure you stay with the people who make you happy. And I want to save my brothers and sisters; that's what being an ally of justice means."

 _An ally of justice?_ Chiron examined Sieg, who suddenly seemed like he carried Siegfried's noble bearing and strong voice. His ruby eyes glimmered in confidence—the same calm solemnity Siegfried kept close.

Chiron had to investigate this afterward.

Astolfo was unaware of this slight change.

"So you wanted to kill two birds with one stone?" Astolfo ask. But a faint blush came over his cheeks. "Jeez, I have a great Master now but he's attracted to trouble."

Sieg looked scandalized and asked why animal cruelty was involved.

 _I need to deal with Rider of Red first._ Chiron sighed again and turned to Achilles while they fell into a light argument about metaphors, in spite of their surroundings.

Achilles stood at a safe distance from where he could strike down arrows. Heavy shoulders accompanied shaken eyes.

Chiron kept his breathing steady.

Achilles wet his lips. "My mentor."

"Achilles," he greeted.

Though the battlefield was far from a meeting place for awkward reunions, they couldn't help but fall into it. It might as well have not existed at this moment.

He almost exhaled from exasperation. Chiron could've rebuked Achilles for becoming soft—his pupil's face lost the bloodthirst and was staring at him with ambivalence, favoring familial feelings—but it appeared to be the same for him.

Nevertheless, he had to beat an old lesson, possibly forgotten, into his idiotic pupil's head. Unpleasantries always reared their ugly heads and required strong solutions.

Astolfo shuffled behind him, as if to reach out his hand and reassure Chiron, but thought better of it.

"...have you come here to rebuke me again?" Achilles said finally and rested his spear on his shoulder.

Chiron sighed, lowering his bow. "I didn't teach you to abuse your power against the helpless."

"And you didn't teach me to hold back against my enemies."

"That's right. But former friends are a different matter entirely."

Achilles withered, gulping almost imperceptible, before trying to scoff it off.

"My mentor…" he frowned. "You must be real worried to lecture me, even now. Have you forgotten what it means to be a hero of Achaea?"

Chiron chuckled. "That does not mean you have to fall in with the rest of them. Though, I wonder why you still take pride in the brutality of killing efficiently, all the while shining like the stars tonight."

"Heh...is that right?" Achilles gripped his spear with both his hands. "Then we'll just see who's correct right now."


	12. Chapter 9

She was the first to sense that lumbering mass of muscles running to them. His feet were like Zeus's thunderbolts; his crazed laughter like an elephant's trumpeting.

Spartacus came charging into the field of stakes and trampled them underneath by virtue of being pure muscle. Laughing, he attacked Atalanta and Karna in a mindless frenzy.

"How odd." Atalanta burst from the stake she perched on to avoid it.

He went after her and Karna as expected but he had swung his gladius at Vlad as he passed him. That was not lost on the lord of this land at all. His amber eyes glinted in irritation.

"I fear that Caster's prestige is not so defensible anymore," Vlad groused and flicked his index finger upward.

Stakes shot up and shredded Spartacus's feet.

"That is quite unfortunate," Karna said while moving to block Atalanta from Spartacus's view. "Perhaps your mistake was made in placing faith on their reputation, not prowess. Shouldn't a monarch like you be taking this into consideration whenever analyzing subordinates?"

"That is quite unnecessary, Lancer of Red." Vlad stared at him.

Karna raised an eyebrow. "Then go ahead and try to take my head if you want me to shut up."

Atalanta ignored their banter. Crouching, she nocked a rack of arrows and aimed them at Spartacus's lower legs. Firing them with speed akin to a machine gun, they turned the targets into looking like hedgehogs clumping together.

"I knew I should've shot his tendons while I had the opportunity," she lamented after Spartacus continued to strike at Karna who parried easily.

"I shall grant death to any and every oppressor!" Spartacus bellowed after the lull formed.

Atalanta's ears flinched from his booming voice. Though his words remained unimpeded by [Mad Enhancement], she believed it was the total sincerity that marked him as such. _He's a complete halfwit._

Karna observed him and said, "I see. I apologize for thinking you had betrayed us, Spartacus. You only reverted back to your role as a rebel."

" _Shall we split up now?"_ Atalanta whirled around to shoot an arrow at Vlad after sensing his approach.

He dodged it as expected, but it put him back into Spartacus's path. They clashed together briefly before separating.

" _Hmm. Spartacus does not seem to be all that inclined to fight the Red Faction only. Instead of a two on two fight, it appears to be us, Lancer of Black, and Spartacus."_ Karna formed a fireball in his palm and threw it like a javelin at Spartacus who was closer to them too much for her liking.

The Berserker howled as his arm melted—Atalanta blinked a few times, not believing what happened next. It just regenerated back in a few seconds.

" _His healing rate is astounding!"_ she hissed.

… _but he was moaning from pleasure._ Just when she thought the Great Holy Grail War had reached its peak in strangeness, it blindsided her.

" _Indeed. We will have to kill him in one blow."_ Karna's face didn't shift from his impassiveness though he moved closer to Atalanta and kept a two-handed grip on his spear.

" _I'll continue to provide support then."_ Atalanta believed this to be the better course of action for now. She didn't want to leave him alone against this Lord of Impalement.

" _Understood."_ If he noticed her more firmer than usual resolve, he didn't say anything.

"Come to think of it, he's quite a pitiful creature," she said.

For any Holy Grail War he participated in, summoned as a Servant, he'd be forced under someone's authority. Had he been a Saber—no, Atalanta doubted his ability to endure such humiliation without [Mad Enhancement]. So he was always forced to become a lumbering Berserker whose wish would never be granted. Though Spartacus laughed while bringing down the oppressors, searching to free the rebellious, he was a hopeless entity that pursued the way of suffering because he had no other reason to fight.

 _To think, I could have been like that if no one intervened on my behalf._

"It'd be best to put him out of this madness," Karna agreed.

Spartacus never stopped his assaults as he went on monologuing about the finer arguments against slavery.

"You! Oppressor!" He shouted at Vlad who reacted with some annoyance.

"I like to think of myself as a liberator, especially here in Romania." Vlad's remark went past his ears.

"You seek the Greater Grail—aside from Archer of Red here, your single-minded devoutness chains you to a wish's fragility, but all who seek the Greater Grail's miracle will end up trampled underneath my power! Every wish will cause havoc to this world, and I, Spartacus, must prevent that! Such a powerful device will grant dominance which is not condoned. Additionally as a monarch, you must die!"

Vlad replied with a stream of stakes slamming into his head. Blood and flesh flew off Spartacus in droves but he laughed it off and completed a series of impressive acrobatics, ending with the stakes crushed and Vlad backing off. That gladius of his was going to pose a problem.

"I feel like we should just move on to a different Servant." Atalanta shook her head. "Spartacus is attached to Lancer of Black like you and your armor."

Karna watched the two go at it. "Regardless, whoever is acting as Spartacus's new Master may use another command spell as further convincing."

"Perhaps. But we should eliminate Lancer of Black before anything else happens."

Even a strong Berserker like Spartacus will have trouble with these stakes.

Vlad continued to stay out of range as he talked.

"Hmph. Berserker of Red." He kept Spartacus's attention by planting a stake in his foot. "You seek to liberate the oppressed, to be sure?"

Spartacus ripped his foot off and pink strings of muscle went flying. "Of course! The very people you have—"

 _What is he..._

"—Lancer of Red, Karna, is one of those people," Vlad interrupted smoothly. "If you truly wish to free the oppressed, then why not start with him?"

"You little—!" Atalanta glared at Vlad who shrugged.

Spartacus became silent. For a man who never stopped talking, it gave Atalanta an eerie feeling.

Karna heaved a long-suffering sigh and raised his spear.

Snarling, she sent a hail of arrows to rebuke Vlad who jumped out of the way and stakes resumed chasing her. She cursed this Lancer for his sheer gall in utilizing this tactic as she avoided getting skewered.

"The spearman of the _Mahabharata_ whose loyalty is only second to his compassion?" Spartacus swiveled around to stare at Karna, in the same vein predators do with their prey.

Atalanta became incredibly uncomfortable even if she wasn't the focus.

Karna's eyes flickered over to shoot Vlad a flat look.

The curve of his lips twitched into a small smirk and he said, "I am simply aiding him to determine the so-called 'oppressors' he seeks to destroy."

"...it matters not," Karna sighed. "Spartacus is to fight either of us anyway."

"That does not mean you have to accept it so readily," Atalanta protested.

"But it is already in the past, so we must accept it and fight accordingly."

Spartacus must have been mulling over the Grail's information of Karna because he beamed from ear to ear.

"I see you are a dog of authority that obeys because of only one bone and nothing else!"

Karna's eyes sharpened and the air became thick and heavy, speaking sternly. "You will not speak about my king like that, Spartacus."

"Will you sever his head with that divine spear then?" Vlad asked.

"— _I will."_ Atalanta charged Spartacus before the two Lancers could react.

"Archer of Red, won't you let me assist you and Lancer of Red in overcoming this self-imposed oppression?!" He was completely confused but attacked her all the while.

"Is oppression such a terrible concept? But Berserker, what will you do once you remove oppression permanently? You may think my wish is oppression but it drives me to become stronger and continue to fight!" Atalanta smirked to herself and began the arduous task of turning him into mincemeat.

This big-bodied Berserker couldn't dodge her arrows, so she would find a better match-up in him than Vlad. She heard them resume their fight, deducing it from the sounds of stakes and clashing spears.

The thrill of resuming the hunt on dangerous game called to her. One kick to her torso and a near-decapitation to him later, she trapped him with his own gladius. It was a blur from adrenaline and blood pumping—somehow, he had became stronger via a command spell. Atalanta decided on her Noble Phantasm's usage from the start, but it was imperative at this moment.

Before nocking two arrows that appeared to be like lightning incarnate, she focused the target area to the bare minimum. So that Phoebus Catastrophe may rain upon him in the highest rates possible.

"Very well then, it's time to start the hunt." Atalanta drew back the bowstring and aimed to the sky. "This is an offering to the two gods—the calamity of Phoebus Catastrophe!"

Light rained.

It was like a shooting star collapsing into needle-thin arrows. They ripped, bit, tore, slashed, and annihilated Spartacus into a lump of corpse-like flesh.

Then it started squirming and rising like bread in the oven after twelve seconds of silence.

"No way—this is a bad dream…" Atalanta's horrified amazement was echoed by Spartacus's mad laughter.

"Oooohhhh...what a pleasant pain…"

Even as the fight dragged on and Spartacus found himself a new job as a pincushion, albeit bleeding everywhere, he never stopped.

Atalanta froze and barely escaped getting slammed against the stakes.

A blinding wave had roared in the distance and was snuffed just as quickly as it has appeared. She deemed it as the work of possibly Berserker or Rider of Black after consideration.

Spartacus whirled around. He was like a monstrosity of a spider with the creativity of Typhon now. The result of Crying Warmonger, she supposed. Her mistake had been "almost" killing him instead of going all the way.

"—There you are, oppressor!" He howled and his countless legs and hands scuttled away to attack the source.

"What?" She muttered, but didn't overlook this reprieve.

 _"Lancer, I will be going after Spartacus's Master, who I believe is Caster of Black. I do not trust this Berserker; he needs to die even if another Servant has the perfect counter for him."_

 _"Be careful,"_ was his immediate reply.

As she left, Karna crossed spears with Vlad easily, and she sighed in relief.

There seemed to be a dwindling amount of Dragon Tooth Warriors, golems, and homunculi—she had little trouble crossing the grasslands and into the forests' ruins. Casting her senses outward, she pinged an intriguing signature, which was of a Heroic Spirit.

 _But that is to be expected,_ she thought. _With the night wearing on, it leaves the Servants to fight over these lands for dominion. This is no place for the weak to continue if they are only surviving what comes their way._

Atalanta melted into the forest's remnants and the sounds of battle yielded to cricket chirping and the creaking of tree branches, as she leaped toward the mana signature she sensed. It wasn't really that hard to find the structure of what must have been a castle's rampart and a half-walled courtyard. She slowed her gait and crouched on the nearest tree that still had adequate cover.

She scanned her surroundings for anything else before settling in.

There—a Servant stood in the courtyard. Caster of Black was a willowy man, shorter than even her. Blue robes and a golden mask swathed his frail body in a strange air. Unimpressive.

He was talking so low that her ears couldn't exactly pick up the words. But the general gist of it sounded like a typical monologue about his goals and motivations.

She didn't care for that right now.

In front of him, a golem shaped in the visage of a beast stood like a sentry. Caster of Black hadn't breathed life into it yet but that beckoned forward the question what it required. Noble Phantasms like that massive golems had equivalent exchanges as a necessity.

She frowned and leaned forward within the foliage.

 _I can't destroy that on my own._ Phoebus Catastrophe certainly ripped apart _regular_ golems in a second; this golem was another story and Caster of Black wouldn't be content to watch her destroy his hard work.

Atalanta stilled. Her ears picked up sounds similar to wailing and squelching mud. Holding Tauropolos in one hand, she pushed leaves away and sharpening eyes homed in.

 _...What is that._

Something—someone orange flailed inside the center gem.

She crept closer as much as she dared without giving away her presence.

A child had been sucked—no...it was more like he was being _absorbed?_ Whether it was, his disappearing face was forever shaped by the tools of torture.

Atalanta almost crushed her teeth from how hard she bit down. Those agonized cries tore away at her conscience and beckoned her to fill Caster of Black with arrows.

Tauropolos shook in her grip. She shook her head frantically after clutching her arm to stop it.

 _No...no...nonono! I have to keep a cool head. I can still kill Caster of Black for this_ unforgivable _act but I need to take care. I can't let myself be swayed like with Jack the Ripper; I need to balance both. ...despite the issue of undeserved suffering pushed onto children continued in this era._

Caster of Black finished talking and the child's body was completely absorbed. The monstrous golem's eyes glowed but nothinng else happened.

Atalanta strung Tauropolos in nervousness. _I may have to ask Assassin or Saber for aid._

"...so you've come, Archer of Red?" Caster of Black's uncaring voice caused her to bristle and narrow her eyes. "But that simplifies it a bit. I consider myself fortunate that it had been you instead of the Red Lancer, Saber, or Rider."

First, there was no bounded field for her to accidentally trigger. Second, someone must have alerted him to her plans—and that someone may be Shakespeare, just because he wanted to spice up drama. That made no sense—if the Red Servants dominated, then his life would stay unyielding. _A traitor_ —she pounced on the theory. Lastly, he _assumed_ her to be a harmless hunter.

"Of course. Putting aside that _revolting_ sacrifice of that child aside, you've made yourself a priority to be completed with death, as Spartacus's Master."

"I understand." Caster's voice was calm and assured. "However, I have some information for you, seeing as I suppose you were kept in the dark."

"You mean as to how you knew I was here?" Atalanta left the tree and hopped onto the castle's rampart, two arrows nocked as a warning. "Don't tell me you've changed allegiances? If it was merely to sacrifice the child, then I have no qualms in removing you. It does not bode well to have allies like you, even if it is temporary."

"...how terrible. You've hit the nail on the head." Caster of Black sounded faintly annoyed.

"It does not take much to connect the dots, Caster."

"Indeed, Archer."

Atalanta felt unease and it wasn't from witnessing the child be absorbed. Surely Kotomine would have informed her before she even came close to Caster's courtyard?

"But seeing as the conditions for both sides are fulfilled, I haven't any qualms either," he said. Ignoring her hiss, he continued, "Since I suppose I am to be the disposable ally, I will tell you this: he is the de facto Red Master. Yes, it came as a surprise to me as well. I didn't expect Amakusa Shirou Tokisada to be a lingering Servant from the Third Holy Grail War."

She stared.

"Tell me, will you continue to hunt for my head until it rolls at your feet, or will you go after him now?"

Only the rise and fall of her breathing answered him as she drew back those two arrows.

The connection supplying her mana hadn't been cut for whatever reason yet.

Caster of Black raised a hand and golems converged on her.

"I offer thee this calamity: Phoebus Catastrophe!"

Atalanta didn't bother looking back at the calamity she brought down. She turned tail and launched herself off the rampart with a long jump.

Caster of Black probably survived since she didn't have enough time to concentrate it in one area.

But that didn't matter. She had to regroup.

—

He thanked the Olympians that his heart didn't shrivel up completely, having prepared himself for this possibility in the end. If he hadn't...he shuddered to even consider the situation. Achilles might've even taken a serious blow if there wasn't any warnings of Chiron as his opponent. Sure, he might eventually find the joy in fighting opponents that could harm him, but his heart kept a persistent offbeat thumping.

Readying himself, he asked, "My mentor, if you'll let me ask one more question."

Chiron nodded once.

"How on earth did you escape Saber of Red's wrath without so much as a scratch? She almost bit my fingers off during a friendly spar."

He raised an eyebrow but said, "I don't think it's relevant to this situation."

"And why is that?"

"Because you are going to die here, Rider of Red. The deceased shouldn't be burdened with further knowledge."

"Teacher…!" Achilles's throat constricted again and he looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

Chiron sighed, as if he was about to give out another lesson. Achilles had no idea if he took comfort or distress from it.

It should have been the most logical choice for two Heroic Spirits in intertwining legends, that much he understood. But he'd always followed his heart, and Chiron his mind. Chiron must be putting aside his emotions for the sake of others. Achilles had to believe in that theory. If Achilles had done that in the Trojan War then there was no reason why Chiron was doing the same now.

"You're truly soft. This is the Great Holy Grail War—there is no room for feeling anything like mercy or compassion. Even someone who is called a hero like you understands that, right?"

He gritted his teeth and mumbled, "...then here I come, teacher—"

A scream rose above the crushing atmosphere, even more so, when factoring in all the participants. Similar to the wailing souls imprisoned in Tartarus, it yanked their eyes to the green outline of a burning tree in the distance to the side.

The last of the golems and homunculi laid in the upheaved earth through crevices and mounds.

So that left Mordred and Berserker of Black.

 _Mordred_. Achilles understood it immediately. Her signature was in the center; she couldn't get away then?

Mana swirled with the tornado accumulating around Berserker of Black's signature.

"That's her Noble Phantasm!" Rider of Black exclaimed.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. So much for being a babysitter that could meet the bare minimum.

He weighed the options. Berserker of Black wasn't [Divine] and he could probably dart in and grab her, then get out.

Narrowing his eyes and tensing his legs, he was about to start sprinting when another arrow bit into his flank. Whipping himself around, it was just in time to witness Chiron aiming more at him.

"Oi!" He screamed.

"Have you forgotten my words, already?" he countered.

Before they fought again, the culminating mana exploded into a deluge of sickly green-white lightning that flooded from the heavens to the ground—or it could've been the other way around. The arrows ceased and relief swelled up before it got stamped over by a horde of beasts.

 _She's probably dead_.

That was the logical solution; yet Achilles wasn't one for logic, which tended to happen when dumb shit went on in the Achaean camps every night.

But a nagging sensation continued to nip at his senses. There was always the slim chance of her survival so he had to confirm it for himself. If she did die—Achilles would mourn her like one of his fellow warriors and add the memory of her to his shoulders. Still, he didn't like the thought of Karna and Atalanta's reactions. For their sake, he prayed to Hades that he hadn't taken her yet.

Achilles bolted out of range to where heaven and earth met.

Chiron seemed content to let him back off. No arrows pursued him.

Feeling the ill will from Rider's glare on his back, he rolled his eyes at the three of them.

 _You haven't changed, teacher._ He still kept his spear raised to strike down arrows if needed.

Then scorched flesh swallowed his nostrils when he neared.

Surrounded by black smoke, Mordred stood in the crater before them.

"Damn," he said to himself. He really didn't relish informing the others about her defeat even though the threat passed. They'd ask where he was during it.

Berserker of Black's Noble Phantasm destroyed over a third of her armor, mostly the additional leg armor pieces. Aside from a remaining gauntlet, the pauldrons were blown off, and a broken horn laid at her feet like she had tried to retract the helmet a moment before. The helmet itself was a piece of junk, barely hanging onto her head.

Clarent laid next to her trembling legs as she hunched over, wheezing.

Achilles slid down the crater and jogged to her, whistling a merry tune. Even if she didn't like it, it wasn't like they could wrestle for its existence.

"We should celebrate with a barrel of alcohol to your survival," he said but she didn't seem to hear him. Shrugging to himself, he started watching her for any other signs.

"How bad is it?" His question broke her silence. It was akin to releasing the gates of Hades.

Diluted howls echoed under the warped helmet. Mordred's gargling curses increased as he drew near, hands trying to rip it off.

"Hey!" Achilles wrestled her hands away from the helmet. "Stop! You'll rip your head off if you do it like that."

" _I. Don't. Care."_ Muffled it was, Achilles sensed she was in a mood angrier than before. But she could rampage all she wants when she isn't about to die from turning her head the wrong way.

"Let me do it then." Gingerly, he yanked the last horn away from her neck and separated the metal connecting helmet to ruined breastplate.

Additional cursing followed and he snapped his fingers twice. She stilled almost instantly.

"Don't talk." He ordered. "I don't want your mouth moving at all."

She knocked a clenched fist against his leg.

"I'll take that as your assent."

Mordred's breathing grew deeper each interval, and he was starting to worry as he worked. Her anger seeped through every bit of her body, tension crushing her exposed arms in violent spasms.

"You should be grateful that you survived that," He scolded and finally lifted the helmet off, revealing her intact face.

Aside from some nasty scrapes, she seemed okayish. If he counted barbecued hands fine.

"I'm not grateful! _That son of a bitch!_ " She screamed as soon as she threw the helmet into the dirt. "I call decapitation rights!"

"Saber—" Achilles knew that kind of anger. It did no one any favors. He employed a low, soothing voice. "—why don't you turn your rage into words and then we can get—"

Violent spasms followed again as her mouth bled from gritting her teeth, like she was trying to grind diamonds to dust.

"Ama—" Mordred choked. Her eyes flared in anger and shock as she forced the words out. _"'By the name of Amakusa Shirou Tokisada'—he stole our Masters' command spells."_ She finally lurched as she sank to her knees, coughing up blood.

Stunned, he couldn't catch her.

Achilles felt everything in his body freeze. Blood, lungs, heart—but not his eyes, as they shot to the innocuous Hanging Gardens floating in the night sky.

 _Looks like we're going wild against Shir...Amakusa Shirou._

He gritted his teeth. It wasn't nearly as bad as when he learned Briseis had been taken by Agamemnon, but it was close to it. That priest _stole_ his Master. _That's unforgivable._

After her coughing fit eased up, Mordred rose, twitching. Her face was twisted into a raging scowl as she grabbed Clarent, missing it a few times before a hand settled onto the grip.

Tearing his eyes from the flying fortress, he managed to unclench his teeth and fell into a tight voice.

"But he ordered you to escape the Noble Phantasm—" he drew out before an arrow almost gnawed at his _heel._

Survival instincts unraveled all the nerves in his body as he went to the edge of his limits to have it hit anything but _that._ An inch more and he'd experience that agony again. Thrown against the crater's wall from Chiron's snipe, nausea almost made him throw up as he yanked the arrow out immediately.

Atalanta's words hung over him like a noose.

His jaw shuddered as he tried to form a sentence. "You— _my mentor_ —"

Chiron and Rider of Black came into view, with the latter behind the former. Sieg hobbled behind them.

Being shot by an unseen Archer was different than seeing the man before him try to snipe him. His heel was something different from his spiritual core and flesh. Chiron tried to kill him.

 _My brother, my father, my friend._

"Archer of Black!" Mordred yelled and hobbled over to stand in front of him, holding Clarent in a ready position. "Stop for one damn moment!"

Chiron's collected cool sniped Achilles in his heart as he nocked another arrow. "I believed you weren't in the mood for words from what I've seen last night."

"Teacher…" Achilles croaked, cursing himself for his weakness.

"I don't care about that now damnit!" Mordred stomped forward, lowering her sword. "Look, I'm not using [Red Thunder]. So hold on for a moment already."

"A ruse," Chiron proposed, pulling back his bowstring.

Achilles groaned as he tried to rise, managing to sit up. _"Chiron."_ he poured in every emotion he felt for his mentor, desperate for him to pause this cruel assault. _"Please."_

"Rider?" Mordred glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes surprisingly concerned, though some rage danced inside.

For the next ten seconds, it stifled them like a tropical storm, silence as a substitution for the heavy humidity. His pleading must have gotten through, for Chiron inhaled sharply as Rider of Black gazed at him with worry.

"Achilles..." frustration painted over his fractured tone. "...for you, my pupil."

He breathed out.

"Thank God," Mordred groaned and stabbed Clarent into the ground. Crossing her arms, she started off in her usual blunt way. "I'm just gonna go ahead and say this: Amakusa Shirou Tokisada apparently wrestled control of the Red Servants from our original Masters."

"Huuhhhh?!" Rider of Black blurted out.

"I'm not a friggin' liar." Mordred glared. "You'll doubt a king's word?"

Chiron slowly dissolved the arrow on his bowstring as he said in a slightly tense voice, "...this makes everything much more simpler, then. Ruler has expressed her theories in great detail to Lancer of Black and I about the possibilities."

Achilles joined Mordred at her side who squabbled with Rider of Black still. Feeling inadequate for some reason, especially under his teacher's conflicted eyes, he tried not to shuffle back and forth. He'll probably get over it when they officially declare a truce.

"—Ruler is heading over here," Chiron said when they stood around in awkward silence.

Rider of Black suddenly sighed and scowled. "Too bad this took Berser...agh, no point in hiding her identity now—Frankenstein's death."

"I won't apologize. We were fighting and I won't half-ass things." Mordred raised an eyebrow, waiting for his inevitable glower.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." His glower faltered and he added, "But since that was a suicide attack...did you have her on the ropes?"

Mordred shrugged. "Of course. I was about to decapitate her when she activated that Noble Phantasm."

His eyes sharpened as if on the prowl. "Are you saying that you didn't injure her severely yet?"

Chiron sighed as Mordred blew up at Rider of Black about how her unparalleled skill hadn't been affected and Berserker of Black's Luck held out.

Sieg tried to make his presence unnoticed.

"I think he meant it, as in how a suicidal attack should be used when it is warranted. Such as mortal wounds or a lack of options," Chiron remarked.

"Berserker had some wounds but not enough to consider it a complete defeat. Because she was going up against me, it didn't matter." Mordred rolled her eyes. "So, who are you Rider of Black? Since we know everyone's identity here already."

Chiron's face creased but nodded at Rider's unspoken question.

"...Astolfo," he simpered before turning away in a huff.

"Pretty weak for one of Charlemagne's Paladins," she snickered.

In a timely manner, a blonde woman with amethyst eyes clad in armor came running over to them, holy flag in her hand, stopping their tirade. She stopped next to Chiron and stared at them cautiously.

 _Jeanne d'Arc, huh?_

Achilles stared.

"She's beautiful." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he almost winced at the unintentional flashback to Penthesilea's dying face.

Mordred gave him the evil eye and smacked his side. Seeing that she was injured heavily, he considered it more like a kitten trying to murder its parent.

He briefly entertained the idea of grabbing her by the scruff. Atalanta would have his hide.

"Nothing wrong with aesthetic appreciation." He frowned.

"This isn't the time," she snapped.

"Then when would the time be correct if we aren't going to see each other outside of the Grail War?" He countered.

"Saber of Red, I trust you are not going to attack me?" Jeanne gave Mordred a wary glance.

Mordred grinned and huffed. "Like I said that day, you were a convenient target for my rage. Speaking of which, did you…?"

"Archer of Black informed me of the situation on my way here, so—" Jeanne stopped at the sight of Sieg.

Achilles and Mordred waited with differing amounts of patience for them to settle it.

"...my apologies," Jeanne said in embarrassment once she finished scolding him. "Seeing as the Red Faction's leader is a Servant, I can say with confidence that this Great Holy Grail War is to be put on hold, until I determine what his motivations are."

"What will happen if he doesn't wish to talk?" Chiron asked.

An odd constriction formed like a swirling maelstrom.

"Saber," he whispered.

Mordred shuddered.

She sighed. "Then I will have to use force and ask you to—" Her head snapped to them.

The command spell enveloped his body, a reminder that in the end, his body was not his own and he was still a Servant. Achilles sank to his knees, crushed by the searing weight be compelled.

 _Do not do anything._

He couldn't even open this mouth.

"Goddamnit!" Mordred howled and the unmistakable mana of another command spell knitted fresh skin over her hands. Stiff legs crunched dirt as she was forced to stand tall.

"A command spell?!" Jeanne asked sharply. "For what?"

"Protect Rider of Red. But that means—" She struggled against the command spell, arms moving like an automaton. Bones popped while she raised Clarent above her head. _"I'm seriously gonna call first right of murder!"_

Jeanne ordered Chiron, Astolfo, and Sieg not to move out from behind her shadow as malice congregated into a raging storm.

Andreias Amarantos would protect him, so Achilles's body didn't act without his consent aside from being forced to kneel. He still seethed from this humiliation. Command spells weren't all that far off from a king's authority and charisma.

 _I'll be taking his head if his explanation doesn't satisfy me!_

"My flag, protect our brethren!" Her banner gleamed bright like a falling star guided by her armored hands. "Luminosité Eternelle!"

Mordred's arms brought down Clarent and the ground rocketed away.

Holding it skyward, the banner flew like a pillar of light. Jeanne simply endured the explosive power of Mordred's Noble Phantasm as Sieg, Chiron, and Astolfo's only lifeline. It was then, Achilles was struck by the similarity of Aias's shield, Rho Aias. A seven-petaled shield that swathed everyone behind it with its defenses, even comparable to his own shield.

"Ruler's authority is definitely real," Achilles muttered to himself and thrashed against the binding until it finally dispersed with the Noble Phantasm's conclusion.

He stood up on sore legs waiting for the dust to clear up.

Mordred's panting echoed as the crater became a basin.

"Couldn't you have used a command spell to counteract it?" Astolfo complained from where he was on top of Sieg. "...geez, I think my heart stopped."

"I know Saber of Red's Noble Phantasm to be a curse-like attack, so I judged this to be better. I also believed that Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's goal is to expend my own command spells." Jeanne used her flag to clear the dust in a wide swing.

"Like I said, I get the first hit." Mordred sunk to her knees, using Clarent to keep herself upright.

Achilles homed in on the way her hands shook and the strange scars crisscrossing her naked hand. He probably shouldn't comment on it here—afterward. And her eye, the one Chiron destroyed, was welded shut by thick blood and throbbed.

"The command spell," she explained, pissed off. "It accelerated the healing for the moment. And now it hurts if I try to use it." After a few seconds, she muttered a quick "Damn it all."

"Huh. I'll be your left eye then," he said, walking over an crouching next to her. "But just so you know, Karna and Atalanta will have something to say about it. Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's punishment, that is."

"They're surprisingly persistent about being really protective."

"I could say the same to you." He steadied her as she lurched into him, hand letting Clarent go unwillingly which returned to spirit form. Slinging an arm around her side, he asked, "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

She rolled her eye but didn't rebuff his arm as they stood up. "Unlike _you,_ I haven't had the complete experience of any great relationships. My sister Gareth was someone I could almost call a friend, but circumstances nipped it in the bud."

"Good thing we're here now," Achilles said.

The ground shaking cut off her reply.

"Uh," she said eloquently.

"Achilles!" Chiron barked.

Achilles threw her away from him and formed his spear just as Spartacus's meaty hand came down on him. Gritting his teeth, he forced it off and away.

 _I thought Amakusa Shirou was exaggerating about the properties of Crying Warmonger!_

Tumors kept bubbling up and exploding while multiple arms and legs carried the chimaera-like Servant. At first, he looked like a pile of corpses gone wrong, animated by escaped souls of Tartarus. Two giant jaws like a dragon sat atop of his rising shoulders. And his head was in the middle, cackling like a deranged elder.

"He's like the Hecatoncheires…" Chiron muttered.

"Saber and Rider of Red, you'll stand with us?" Jeanne jumped to slam her flag against an outstretched fist.

"You don't have to say it twice," Mordred hissed as she stood up, trying to shake off the command spell and reformed Clarent to hold it in front of her.

Achilles grunted in affirmation.

Chiron looked at Mordred and said, "I know it's not as simple to resolve our fight the other night, but this stands to be our highest priority."

"I got it, I got it. We'll be buddies for now and I'll overlook the matter of you sniping Rider of Red." Mordred raised her chin at him, smirking.

He wasn't sure how to feel about her "intervention". But she supported him, so that had to count for something.

"Of course." Chiron and Achilles's eyes met for the briefest of seconds before steeling themselves.

Spartacus continued to crawl into the basin while shouting, "My fist is love! Now accept my love!"

"I'd rather not." Achilles smirked. His bloodthirst finally found an output.

He ran toward Spartacus to plunge and drag his spear along the arm before it could move to hit Mordred. Though unstable flesh acted like a tumultuous ocean, Achilles jumped and crouched when the "waves" swirled around.

Arrows from Chiron supported his sprint to the head.

"Rider, isn't that Servant more powerful than usual?!" He heard Sieg ask.

"He's been backed by two command spells!" Astolfo called while he gathered up his Master and darted away.

Whip-like arms in the guise of an octopus attacked those on the ground like a sentry.

More arms and toothy jaws appeared to try and snag him but Achilles's speed outpaced Spartacus by miles. Fierce gales fell to second place and he grinned savagely as Spartacus's actual head came into view.

"I'll be taking your head!"

"Oppressor! So you have come to defeat me, but a fellow rebel against authority—" Achilles thrusted his spear into the crown of Spartacus's head.

For good measure, he pushed in further with all his weight in a two-handed grip. The blood splatter briefly obscured his eyes before he wiped it with an arm, not letting go.

Was there still blood in his eyes? Spartacus went on despite having his eyes and brain gouged out.

"—like you should be against Ruler, the one who keeps the Holy Grail's oppression in existence."

"Oh, what the hell?!" Achilles cursed as he blathered on, not caring about the weapon piercing into his brain.

"He's not a typical Servant anymore!" It was almost a surprise to register Jeanne's voice reaching his ears up here. "You must continue on!"

Suddenly, a bubbly mass of fresh flesh started pushing out his spear and the Berserker's organs came back.

"I figured!" he yelled back and yanked the spear out and prepared to jump away, leaving a dent, preferably an explosive one, when a meaty hand grabbed him by the waist, pinning his arms in place.

It fit perfectly.

Sweat beaded down his forehead when he found himself unable to escape.

Thrashing like a caged animal did nothing. He slammed his knees into bulging muscles but Spartacus laughed it off. Hitting them was like fighting a mountain—Achilles gasped as an increasing amount of pressure forced the air out of his slowly bruising chest.

His blood forced a song of thunder into his ears.

 _I can't use my spear._

 _Or summon my chariot._

"Oi!"

Red lightning streaked upward and he picked out Mordred's blonde hair before another arm slapped her into the ground like a fly. Hearing her yell in anger at least confirmed her state of not being a pulpy mess.

"S-S-Sa...ber…" he wheezed as the arms kept squeezing him.

"I will make you see reason, fellow rebel!"

You know, in hind sight, when you were invulnerable, finding opponents capable of hurting you was supposed to be great, right? Well, that didn't do wonders for his pain tolerance.

His vision went through a one-eighty mess of colors and for a stretched-out second, the sky replaced the ground. The next thing he knew, he had his own Achilles-shaped dent up against the sloping earth.

Something crunched hard.

There had been a punch after Spartacus threw him. Probably. But Mordred's intervention stopped another one for sure.

His head spun along side Jeanne's shouts. "Servant Ruler orders you to cease attacking!"

The red light of a command spell followed and was snuffed as quick as it came.

The discordant clinking of her armor increased as he distinguished the bits of silver and red standing in front of him.

"He isn't a Servant, a Heroic Spirit, a human, or a beast anymore. He's become something like a _wrathful god,"_ Chiron said in wonder.

"So the deity of rebellion or something?" Astolfo asked. "—wait, Master! What are you doing?!"

Achilles threw up blood as a way to convey his feelings on the matter. It left a sticky trail under his chin.

His arms tingled as if they were asleep so he gingerly eased it out of the stone. They flopped into his legs.

He should probably get up. Then his vision darkened and brightened as a deterrent like when curtains filtered light.

"Achilles—!"

"I'm awake," he mumbled.

Chiron cursed anyway.

"He broke my ribs..." he said to Mordred after his vision cleared up to show him Spartacus unaffected by their attacks. It hurt to talk. "...I _can't_ get _up_."

"Shit, seriously?! That disgusting meat balloon!" Mordred raged as [Red Thunder] pulverized the follow-up attacks. "Archer, I'll keep guarding Rider from here."

"To bypass immortality granted by the gods like that speaks volumes of his threat level." Chiron was a golden blur in running around Spartacus in one lap to release a whirlwind of arrows to everywhere that he aimed. "Saber, can you use Clarent Blood Arthur?"

Spartacus became a stationary octopus that flung debris and occasionally tried to grab Mordred and Jeanne.

"Can't. Need both of my eyes!" Mordred let out a yell from exerting her will against an arm and brought up Clarent to lop it off. "Damn—this guy. Won't. Stop. Regenerating!" she punctuated each word with a slash.

Achilles closed his eyes and tried to breathe in a way that didn't outright break his lungs.

"You, the silver swordswoman—why have you switched from a rebel to becoming the king?!"

"I have my own reasons, you filthy Berserker!"

"Even if one elevates themselves to the office you usurped to bring out a so-called reign of peace, there exists a power imbalance and you will continue to sow oppression from royalty to the peasantry!"

"— _Damn you."_

"Don't be provoked by him, Saber." Chiron's calm voice tried to soothe her.

"Dammit Archer! This is a matter of pride that concerns the King of Knights's reign!"

"So you too, will chain yourself to these ideals?"

"It's my choice!" Mordred was vitriol incarnate.

It was more than a little strange how mana continued to flow into him but at a substantially lower quality. Forget taking his head, he wanted to be the first one to punch him for the team. But breathing took up every ounce of concentration, so when the turn of good fortune fell upon them, he almost choked on his blood.

Instead of a nuke from human mechanics, mana filled its components. Everyone on the battlefield couldn't help but freeze in stark surprise when it released.

Achilles cracked open an eye to see Saber of Black standing next to Astolfo, a proud and silent figure.

"Ruler—" Chiron didn't hesitate in attacking a stilled Spartacus.

"He _is_ Siegfried," Jeanne whispered. "[True Name Discernment] confirms it. I'll tell Lancer of Black about this."

The dragon slayer had returned against all odds. Achilles should keep his mouth shut about things like 'If you can turn into Saber of Black'.

"Are you alright?" Siegfried asked.

" _Yes,_ you idiot!" Astolfo's tears of relief released like a broken dam.

Siegfried smiled at him and put on an impressive glower for Spartacus.

"This Great Grail War creates these strange events as if it's the norm," Jeanne noted with a tired sigh.

"I'll be damned." Mordred raised an eyebrow before glancing at Chiron. "Huh, well there's your Anti-Army Noble Phantasm."

"It seems so," Chiron rejoined Jeanne and Astolfo in a smooth run. "Siegfried, aim Balmung at Sparacus's head. Perhaps if the whole mass is enveloped, then it will kill him."

"Another oppressor?!"

"You can count on me." An arm grabbed Siegfried and threw him up into the air. He ended up landing on the other side of the basin after chopping the arm in half, facing Jeanne, Chiron, and Astolfo.

Which meant Achilles and Mordred were caught in the middle. Mordred backed up near him, grimacing.

Chiron pushed Astolfo behind him and ignored his protests. "I suppose Luminosité Eternelle is to be used again."

Jeanne gave a firm nod.

"That's unlucky. Heh, it's not like we're strangers to situations like _these!"_ Achilles carefully got up, holding his torso. The little healing that elapsed pushed broken ribs back into place. Every spot there stayed burning with a fiery vengeance but he gritted his teeth as he banished the pain to a distant corner.

Jeanne blinked before starting. "Wait! I can't shield you from there!"

"Just do it." Achilles forced out. "I have a solution."

"Wait, what?" Mordred glanced at him.

She had dragon blood, distant as it was. Achilles knew the two of them were too slow in this current state to run for Jeanne's sanctuary.

"But Red Rider!" Jeanne balked.

"Ruler, you have to use that Noble Phantasm now!" Chiron redirected a punch from Spartacus by firing more arrows into his eye. "Achilles has a plan. I trust him."

Spartacus reared back onto his meaty legs and howled about oppression while Achilles felt relief grow from Chiron's words.

"...alright." Her flag grew bright again after taking a stance in front of him and Astolfo.

"Go ahead, Saber of Black," Achilles pushed Mordred into the crevice.

Perhaps realizing the direness, she didn't protest.

Siegfried nodded solemnly after some hesitation. "Fill, my sword."

His broadsword flared up in a blue light.

Achilles quickly shielded Mordred with his body, ignoring her protests and winces.

"Bal _—mung!"_

His confidence in Andreias Amarantos followed through by converting that Noble Phantasm into a pleasantly warm air while washing over them. Instead of a straight line like Clarent Blood Arthur, Balmung released waves of blue twilight to rip apart Spartacus's front. _A paper shredder_ , the Grail helpfully supplied.

"Are you two alright?" Jeanne shouted once the dust and roaring subsided.

After Mordred gave an affirmative in the timeless way of cursing, Achilles unsteadily got up.

"Huh. I like how his sword beam goes off faster than yours." Achilles winced. He tried to use a nonchalant tone but it ended up hurting his chest.

"Yeah but my Noble Phantasm is stronger," she muttered after escaping the confines of the hole with a little more than trouble.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the mountain of a Servant pulsing, failing to regenerate limbs torn asunder. _No sense in wasting more mana to ensure his defeat._

"Let's just regroup." Achilles turned back to the others, concern shooting up when he registered what must happened.

Instead of standing in triumph, Siegfried was on his knees, coughing up a lung. His form was already collapsing. Chiron tended to him with Astolfo outright panicking.

"A time limit?" Jeanne suggested, panting as if her lungs had given up.

"It's very likely—" Chiron stopped when Siegfried's form melted away to reveal a still-wounded Sieg.

"All good fortunes have their downsides," Achilles commented, hobbling over.

Chiron gave him a concerned look but he shook his head carefully. It took energy that he needed desperately, just to talk.

Mordred tsked, standing behind him. "But this imitation shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"Well, I'm just glad my Master didn't have to be near-dead to figure it out," Astolfo crossed his arms with a nervous laugh.

"But transforming helped us." Sieg withered under Jeanne and Astolfo's combined glares.

"Enough, you two. Please scold him later—Sieg, how were you able to let Siegfried possess your body?" Chiron asked.

"...uh…" he started while his eyes glazed over. "I don't think I can explain it in an understandable way right now. I just know that, uh, that...because Rider of Red got taken out and Saber of Red wasn't in the best shape—"

"—you're explaining this later," Jeanne intervened, not unkindly.

"Shouldn't we be calling over the rest of the Black and Red Servants?" Mordred crossed her arms impatiently.

"I second it." Astolfo raised a hand.

"Hold on...Amakusa Shirou may command spell the Reds into trying to kill us," Chiron offered.

"In any case, we must talk with Yggdmillennia and—" Jeanne stopped.

"Ruler?" Chiron's eyebrows furrowed when they watched her remove a gauntlet, rising when a collection of command spells emerged.

"How nice! So that's the privilege of a Ruler, huh?" Astolfo's loud enthusiasm renewed the throbbing in his head.

Achilles tried not to moan and held a hand to his forehead. "Is something the matter, Ruler?"

"...the command spells for Spartacus hasn't disappeared!"

He tried not to break or add more injuries to his list while their sight shot to Spartacus. Sure enough, the mutated Servant's mana was being squeezed out for every bit. That was going to be his final and strongest attack, he understood. Even the mana that anchored him to this world. An earthquake ravaged the ground as Spartacus reached his critical point. The swelling humps on his hill-like back started to glow like melting gold.

 _You think you're really going to take me with you? I belong in Elysium, not Tartarus._

"Oh, fuck." Mordred scowled, unease and nervousness apparent in her shuffling. "Everyone here but this discount Saber can go into spirit form."

"Um…" Jeanne's fingers intertwined together.

"Ruler…" Chiron was speechless.

Achilles shifted his eyes back to Jeanne's war banner while they fell into a pit of panic. Her holy flag frayed from the bottom, slowly creeping up. It could definitely still be used as a weapon but its properties as a Noble Phantasm was compromised for now.

"My flag is already splintering, it seems," Jeanne gave a tired, awkward smile before he could inquire. "I can't use that Noble Phantasm consecutively."

"I don't have to apologize then, Ruler. I'm taking over." Achilles popped his knuckles and manifested his shield, moving to take Jeanne's place from where she utilized Luminosité Eternelle.

"Eh? But Rider of Red, you're worse off than I am!" Astolfo objected with genuine worry.

"You gonna doubt my legend?" Achilles blew his bang out of his eyes. It was worth the pain in his chest—from hard ribs brushing his very, very squishy organs.

But Nike smiled upon him. His shield took little mana to use and activate. Holding up Akhilleus Kosmos felt _right_ like he was putting a missing puzzle piece back into his soul. He grabbed the metal handles, fingers sliding into the well-worn grooves.

"An azure shield…" Jeanne trailed off, entranced by the swirling sea currents all around the rim.

He cleared his throat to expel the last of the blood blockage. "I'm going to be feeling this even afterward, so someone better catch me."

"Don't worry," Mordred said in a half-serious tone that made him concerned about his spine in the aftermath.

Chiron sighed despite this predicament.

"...someone else." Achilles went before she could retort, ignoring the fresh blood streaming down his neck.

He brought up Akhilleus Kosmos to greet the comet of pure light barreling into him. There wasn't a single worried thought about his arms failing to brace—and then he was suddenly aware of his chest rising and falling and it sweetened his relief as it activated. Struck by nostalgia, the shield ushered in the salty scent of the oceans lashing against the coastline of the white city, impenetrable until he landed on their shores, when it covered the earth with the long-ravaged architecture of ancient Achaea and Troia.

Achilles stood tall against the comet but his legs yearned to stretch and leave behind everything: the wind, the discarded life, and the Fates.

He started breathing deeper and deeper as the statues of Akhilleus Kosmos rose up.

The centaur.

The strategist.

The shielder.

The spearman.

The Amazoness.

The armies.

" _Aren't you going to sprint like always?"_

Achilles released a long sigh.

If he didn't push forward and attack with this miniature world of his, did it count as letting Spartacus have the final word? That he, the son of Thetis and Peleus, could just barely withstand the attack.

"Yeah," he muttered to the ghost and the hand on his back urged him onward.

Was it an instinct or a desire? It might have been out of an arrogant bearing that he could protect everyone here, but if he couldn't protect Patroclus, then he could at least protect the people here. If Patroclus had been tangled in the strings of the Fates, then what did that make Mordred to him? She survived that suicidal Noble Phantasm and continued to fight against Spartacus.

First and foremost, Achilles was a sprinter before he became a warrior.

That had been the first choice he decided for himself.

He took a step forward.

Muscles screeched at him to stop but that wasn't who Achilles was, to stop, smell the roses and do a lazy morning. If he had chosen to live his life short and monumental then who was he to take the easy track there? He took another, and kept moving till his muscles were silenced by the thundering call of the wind and the promise he made.

Achilles was dimly aware of him screaming in exhilaration and pride in a final effort to run against the comet spinning his so-called fate to have his fight end here.

 _I've got a lot of regrets...but this isn't one!_

Reaching the end of the comet's tail was akin to exiting a long tunnel, and the smoke rising and barbecued flesh welcomed him.

He stumbled and tripped. As expected, he collapsed once he stepped over the finish line.

Akhilleus Kosmos carved up the cooling earth after reforming as a shield again.

It was a little weird how Jeanne caught him instead of Chiron, but hey, he wasn't going to complain about soft skin instead of hard muscles. And that was because his own body ached _everywhere_. As if he wanted to be kept awake by a raging libido.

"Rider of Red...that was an amazing Noble Phantasm." Jeanne took on his dead weight without a complaint. "Spartacus is gone without a doubt."

"Please, Achilles. Do not dream about our troubles." Chiron's hand on his head was the best thing that's happened tonight. So far.

Achilles exhaled.

"...I'm just...happy...it wasn't...Saber—" his head lolled back onto Jeanne's shoulder before his world turned black.


	13. Chapter 10

It looked as if Agni, the fire god, descended from the heavens and made his anger known.

The earth cried out from the unrelenting assault of being scorched down to the bedrock.

Sharp stakes plastered the ground akin to sand in the desert.

He used [Mana Burst]: Flames in extreme caution. But each second constricted his spiritual core like a cobra winded up by a flute. Smashing stakes using his spear and breathing fire balls picked up the slack.

Karna grunted, actually annoyed as another stake slammed into his torso from his peripherals' blind spot. Though Kavacha and Kundala negated any serious damage since the battle started, there was nothing about the "power of momentum".

Every stake plowing into him knelt to his armor by bending at a ninety-degree angle. But when he regained his balance after skidding on the ground, more tried to bounce him like a ball in a pinball machine. (Before the Hanging Garden started moving, he and Mordred went into Sighisoara again—she dragged him to an arcade and they wasted time there).

Near infinite: up to two thousand per instance was his guess, failing only in design. Each attempted snare formed shapes of the linear variant so he angled his body, twisting and flipping to slide through openings.

Minuscule scratches piled up. But he felt it unnecessary to heal them and decided to reserve it for bigger issues.

They danced back and forth, repeating a sequence of Karna smashing his stakes with his spear and Vlad maintaining his distance while trying to impale him.

But there was a furious edge to Vlad's movements. Perhaps it was because Karna exposed his heart and motivations in not-so-kind words. Though, the hypocritical blindness about Vlad's devotion to his God as the purer deity to pagan religions irked him. It wasn't calling his father a disgusting monster that copulated with humans, that bothered him. That was how many demigods' epics began.

He recalled the tale of Jesus Christ, a son of the Abrahamic God. How would Vlad or perhaps, Jeanne d'Arc, explain it? A stumped reaction, for starters. _It is indeed a fine line between intentional irony and lack of self-awareness._

Either way, the suddenly triumphant gleam in his eyes raked up caution.

"As expected of a hero, you cannot find any fear in yourself to take on an entire country. But I have punished you over three times for that arrogance!"

Three times Vlad's spear had touched him.

A cold, hard knot in his stomach drizzled into an uncontrollable flood. Karna tried to move away but the feeling became hard and impossibly cold—these stakes had already manifested inside him; he realized as he fell onto one knee, coughing up blood.

Three stakes poked out of his body, biting into his entrails. He coughed up blood but that was it. Karna could not compare this at all to when he peeled his armor off—therefore, he could ignore this ticklish wound.

"You've made a fatal mistake, Lancer of Red." Vlad strolled over to him, smirking in satisfaction. "Having a fixed assumption of an opponent's Noble Phantasm make for irreparable choices."

So his Noble Phantasm was the concept of being impaled? It certainly explained the limits of his range and how it affected Karna's innards. However, that had been his first experience of receiving damage while wearing this armor of crystallized sunlight. No other memories of similar injuries came up when he pondered it. For that alone, Karna could respect Vlad for doing so.

But he raised his head and muttered, "I wonder, calling it 'fatal' is correct only when—"

When Vlad stopped close enough to almost see the white of his eyes, he gestured again with a hand and the cold nausea escorted more stakes inside. Karna flinched and tried to support himself an arm. The other hand holding his spear wobbled from the stakes.

"—ngh!" he couldn't help it. The throbbing pain of having his nerves severed really was something else compared to blunt force.

"Hmm...that is a much better reaction. Yes, much better than letting your mouth spin insults and biting words."

Flames circulated inside to burn away the stakes and he remained kneeling to conserve energy and continue conversing. Something about this bothered him, and it wasn't the way his stakes tried to impale a son of fire, but the more he pondered it, the clearer it was.

"Vlad the Impaler," he said finally.

"Hmm?"

"You have crusaded against the pagans, deriding them for their so-called barbaric practices. But it makes me wonder: do Christians and Catholics alike consider falsities and double-standards the crux of their revered values? It appears to me that you placed dwindling faiths into a separate category to disguise the flawed thinking in the 'apparent' perfection of the Abrahamic God. Perhaps it may be out of a desire for superiority, considering the original God had been from a polytheistic pantheon. From a group of those 'impure' humans no less."

Karna felt at ease despite knowing what laid before him as a result.

Vlad murmured a string of curses and narrowed his eyes.

"I think it's time you've left the battlefield, Lancer of Red," he retorted, choosing his words with care.

Karna sighed softly at this paltry attempt at intimidation. As if it would ever work on someone like him. All he sought to do in life was live in a way that would never bring shame to his divine father. That had been one of the two main reasons behind his indomitable will. And the only people Karna would bend the knee to were Surya, Duryodhana, and Mordred.

 _You aim to destroy a child of the sun with stakes?_ _Even flame spirits cannot burn me._

He rose like the sunrise by blinding Vlad with a quick [Mana Burst]: Flames. Bracing a foot back, he threw his spear at him. Unsurprisingly, a fortress of stakes sprung up to protect Vlad the instant he burned away the stakes inside him. Though the spear stopped short of nicking Vlad's cheek, it gave him time to set up. He would hold to not using Brahmastra Kundala, for Mordred. As if agreeing, the gemstone in his chest burned in a pleasant way.

"Weapons are but an opening act. A true hero kills with his eyes!" Karna cupped a circle around his left eye and felt the mana ascend like an approaching tsunami.

"His Noble Phantasm!" More stakes blasted upward to line up like a phalanx of soldiers.

Summoned as a Lancer, his Noble Phantasm Brahmastra took the form of a different projectile instead of a bow, since he was not an Archer. As an Anti-Country Noble Phantasm it would melt the stakes before destroying his opponent with a beam of pure energy.

 _"The priest is a Servant!"_

 _"What—"_

"— _Amakusa Shirou Tokisada is his—"_ Atalanta cursed and the link shattered.

His discipline crushed the worry but remained helpless for what followed.

 _For the folly of hunting my cow, you will struck down by an enemy when your concentration is stolen._

Karna staggered and placed both of his hands over his chosen eye; they formed a smaller circle and attempted to lower Brahmastra as much as he could. It was like trying to hold back the sea—had he been agonized over commitment in life, then his will would not have allowed him to do it.

His face burned and not in a pleasant way. _We're the only ones here but care is required!_

Vlad, sensing it, quickly flicked a finger up. A thick stake slammed into his temple and he lurched back from the curse-inducing nausea and physics.

But light howled and galloped, even if he got Brahmastra to subside in its aptitude for destruction. The sea of flames consumed the hills behind them.

Vlad stumbled in silent agony as it hit his shoulder like a gunshot seamlessly passing through. A curtain of stakes formed to cover and hide him.

Karna's arms fell to his side—after experiencing a command spell, he could confidently compare it to the curses he was burdened with. He breathed hard and clutched his chest; his spiritual core was turned into something like a twisted lump of metal yanked apart for the inner sanctums only and the rest abandoned. Only a few more [Mana Burst]: Flames were available.

The earth under him shifted.

Support came in the form of stakes again. Compressed by the curse, he couldn't help sagging into them as he fought to regain his breath. His legs tried to scrabble away at the dirt but he ceased after he lost his breath.

Karna readied a [Mana Burst: Flames when he sensed the earth shift again, but not under his feet.

"If I come closer, you'll unleash those holy flames and the same will happen if I try to make more stakes to impale you." Vlad staggered back into sight, the stakes collapsing. He clutched his injured shoulder, blood gushing over pale hands.

"Of course," Karna managed to reply.

For a moment, they stared at each other, not willing to concede. However, his will was stronger and his hand itched to form his spear and use Brahmastra Kundala regardless of the consequences. There were no other Servants on the field who could defeat him, he knew that much.

The noise came like a series of gales fighting against its antithesis. Screeching metal and a background ringing, like a toothache that lingered.

Their bodies stiffened independently of their minds. He wasn't sure if he could call it an intervention on Vlad, or his behalf. It wasn't like his divine father to play favorites often—even if Surya had warned him once about Indra's scheme the day before.

Karna could consider it akin to a mana bomb detonating. When the overabundant mana dispersed under harsh waves all over the surroundings, _something_ had formed as a result.

Vlad and Karna remained cautious, hanging on a hair-thin trigger, as they turned to see the area of origin. ...but that was where Mordred and Achilles decided to engage in combat. He tried not to inhale from clenching anxiousness; he trusted them to survive. However, that didn't take their physical state into consideration.

They might as well reunite in a near-death state.

"A new Servant?" Vlad narrowed his eyes.

He couldn't forget anyone who had eyes similar to Arjuna. Not their signature, not their weapon, and not their bearing. Karna was fairly confident he could recognize it even in his sleep. After all, they had crossed spear and sword till dawn pleaded for a break.

"It's Saber of Black." As he said those words, joy flipped his heart upside-down, in anticipation at the thought of being able to fight a such a warrior again. Karna didn't question the whys and hows. All a Kshatriya needed was the opponent's willingness to fight.

"...that's correct." Vlad seemed speechless after confirming for himself. "But _how?"_ Then his eyes widened. "Amakusa Shirou Tokisada?!"

Jeanne must have informed him as well.

Deeming them to be at a stalemate for the moment, he decided to address the matter of this event. The first point: Karna knew he needed to seek out the answers to give justification for his judgment. That judgement involved denouncing Amakusa Shirou as his Master and rescuing the Red Masters, who were probably still alive.

Whatever Amakusa Shirou was after, Karna cared not for it, yet. He clearly did however, plan carefully, to usurp the Red Servants' Masters. Nothing excellent can come out of a fine veil like that and he knew the others to be steered by their immediate anger.

It just didn't bode well.

"—Darnic, I will treat this situation as one to act on Ruler's authority. This is unprecedented and requires finesse." The hole in his shoulder started to knit back slowly, leaving pink flesh and sore muscles.

Atalanta's information, however inconvenient it was to feel one of his three curses again, stopped him from killing a possible ally.

Karna's jaw clenched regardless. "Since I assume Ruler sided with you briefly, then she has informed you about the strangeness of the Red Faction."

Vlad met his unimpressed stare with one of his own once he finished a one-sided argument with his Master.

He exhaled softly. Relaxing his body, his spiritual core released its tension after he smothered inner flames to an ember along with the curse. "If you'll release me from these stakes then."

"Ah, yes." Vlad waved his hand and the stakes disappeared.

But it disappeared instantly so Karna floundered onto his knees. He had to catch himself with his hands and he shot Vlad a look afterward.

"—my apologies..." he attempted a kind smile. "But you see, I was still smarting and forgot my manners, considering it was a fight."

Needless to say, it was a failure.

"You needn't say it if you do not mean it completely," Karna said, trying not to let annoyance seep in.

He just held out a hand.

Karna took it, recognizing the peace offering for what it was. After being pulled up by a firm grip, he wiped leftover blood from his mouth with a thumb. "I suppose we should make our way to Ruler, then."

Vlad nodded and they set off on a light sprint. Along the way, he noticed that his mana supply was being somewhat held back. While his scratches healed, the mana that went to conjuring his flames were not replenished. Even the act of manifesting his spear would drain his mana at a rapid pace, so he went weaponless for now.

As they advanced, the stakes, Dragon Tooth Warriors, and golems decreased in frequency, as if they had been blown away.

"Lancer, my Master says the aerial fortress approaches the fortress." Vlad started hesitantly once they passed a horde of destroyed Dragon Tooth Warriors. "I assume you are privy to the details."

"It's Semiramis—our Assassin of Red—she controls that Noble Phantasm, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon." Karna had no reservations. "She probably seeks to steal the Greater Grail with it."

Vlad almost stumbled but resumed his pace. "Pardon me, but did you say _Assassin?_ And if that is true, then haste is needed." Even then, some feverish notes entered his words.

Karna almost smiled. "She has the skill Double Summon, so she acts as a stand-in for our Caster, who is not particularly noteworthy in the battlefield. To justify it, he is William Shakespeare. The type of Servant who is better suited to be support."

"I wasn't wrong, then," Vlad said, more to himself.

"You are assuming that all but one of the Red Servants possess Heroic Spirits from the Age of Gods—aside from our Saber?" Karna asked anyway.

"Yes." He sounded uncomfortable.

Not surprising.

"If it is any consolation, having the opportunity to fight magnificent warriors from the Age of Man like you and Saber of Black—" Karna skidded, holding out an arm to stop Vlad.

In this thin air, the mana leaked into every unguarded particle.

They were about two-thirds from their destination, not too bad, when considering what Amakusa Shirou might do to stop their advance.

Vlad grunted as he was a little slower in stopping but shut up at what followed. A whitish-purple beam of pure mana erupted into existence—where Ruler and a few other Servants were gathered.

Before Karna could feel the dread settle, a brilliant green sphere formed to encase the incredible attack and swallowed it. Amazement and awe replaced concern. Even from he could sense that it was _another world._ A boundary field stretched to impossible limits _._

"Seeing that makes me wonder if the Black Faction had a chance from the start," Vlad confessed once the ray of light died down.

"Then be at ease that it did not come to pass," Karna offered and continued on.

Vlad trailing behind at a slightly slower pace worried him, just for the possibility of being analyzed by his Master but he squashed the suspicions.

At what he assumed was the "meeting place," in a newly-formed basin, four Servants and a homunculus—Karna knew this to be the one who allowed Siegfried to live, however brief it was, as soon as he laid his eyes upon him—huddled together around an unconscious Achilles laying on his back. His breastplate had been removed, letting a bloodstained torso free to breathe shallowly. Except for Rider of Black, the Servants sat next to Achilles.

Karna thought he was dreaming of something pleasant, from the peaceful expression alone. Though his slumbering remained deep as they approached.

Chiron launched into hurried explanations for Vlad who listened intently with growing anger and interest.

"Yo! Too bad you were a bit too late to join the fun." Mordred lit up as soon as she saw him, cracking a smile despite seeing Karna's surprise at her eye.

Her shoulders tensed up when he didn't look away. Without a doubt, he knew the affliction to her left eye was worse than the initial hit. The eyelid itself hadn't twitched at all when she blinked.

Karna returned the smile anyway. "Judging from the look of exasperation on Ruler's face, I suppose that 'fun' was more of an ordeal in itself."

Mordred's fearless grin was all he needed to confirm it. Standing up and windmilling an arm, she joined him at his side.

"Um...about that," Jeanne sighed from where she sat next to Achilles and Chiron. "I've already declared a truce, a postponement, of the Great Holy Grail War, but I must ask: are you to stand against me?"

"I had simply acted as my Master commanded; to do what Amakusa Shirou, the coordinator at the time, wished of me." Needless to say, that had been...irritating to hear. As a spear, he fought whoever his user directed him at. And seeing as he didn't consider Amakusa Shirou Tokisada his true Master, it should have been quite obvious.

Not a second later did Mordred tackle him lightly and he let himself be dragged off to the side by the hand before Jeanne could react. She exhaled as they stopped at a distance where any eavesdropping attempts would be made obvious and turned to him.

"I wanted to tell you about the eye before Achilles wakes up so you can hear it from me—" Mordred got out in one breath, other hand pointing at her left eye. The hand shook slightly as well as her voice. It was the opposite of her usual demeanor."So basically I can't see out of it anymore and probably won't for the rest of this Grail War but I figured you wouldn't be fine with that so I should be the one to tell you myself."

She looked as if she was about to be rebuked, shrinking somewhat, and he almost inhaled. Almost inhaled out of irritation directed at Morgan le Fay for damaging her psyche.

"...I had figured something happened when I first saw you," Karna said, not commenting on how her hand didn't let go of his, in a near-death grip. "But I doubt a wound like that would stop you from winning future battles."

She started. It was more out of confusion than relief.

Karna's eyes fluttered for a few seconds as he recalled the spar between her and Achilles. "Mordred, do you remember my words from when you bypassed Andreias Amarantos?"

Mordred's mouth opened as her eye narrowed in concentration. "Yeah...well—urgk!" she groaned after thinking back. "Look, here's what happened..."

Karna paid close attention to listening about Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's involvement in the sordid affair as he wiped the blood away from the eyelid. As she went on, the tension in her bare shoulders slipped away, and relief shone in her eye. She even stopped squeezing his hand. By the end, he felt incredibly concerned for Achilles's near future and Mordred's ability to use Clarent Blood Arthur. He was nowhere near the other three's level of over-protectiveness but the desire to hold Amakusa Shirou accountable for subterfuge solely started to drop.

"I couldn't really protect Achilles. Not from Spartacus or Chiron." Her hand started gripping his tightly again but it wasn't uncomfortable. Mordred's jaw clenched hard as she went on, "And then that damn priest-Ruler-Servant— _whatever_ _the hell he is_ , wrapped up a command spell in a pretty red ribbon to _apparently_ 'protect Rider of Red'. Some help it was! He tried to take advantage of my determination."

Karna tilted his head. "Because you are not good enough—" He winced as he realized the bad timing of his phrasing.

"—I'm a great warrior. _A great knight!"_ She whisper-yelled, chest heaving from the force. Her instant flinch afterward was like she had been expecting a harsh punishment for speaking back.

Compassion for her guided his hands to clasp over hers and he said softly, "I know that. Not once have I thought lesser of you. To value you only for your fighting prowess is more than just foolhardy. It would be treating my knight, my friend, and my sister, as a weapon. It's ridiculous that you think you've become redundant because of one catastrophe, because I too, failed with Atalanta due to [Jack's Ghosts]. Achilles was simply unprepared for Spartacus. Please understand, Mordred, that the responsibility is not yours alone."

"Karna..." a stricken look came across her face. She shook her head a few times and swallowed as she eased her hand out and embraced him like they were about to depart for the Throne of Heroes here and now.

There was a muffled "thank you" while burying her head in his chest, trying to wrap her arms around as much as she could. Karna smiled softly and tucked her head under his chin, cape hiding them from any prying eyes. He found a certain kind of comfort in this, which must be the bond between families. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was at peace for the first time in a while.

"...Mordred," he said after a moment. "I've said this before, and I will say it again: you can rely on us. Please at least understand that much."

"Achilles volunteered to be my left eye, but look where he is now," Mordred complained in sour tones but in her usual abrasive tones. "Starting to think his confidence isn't all that's cracked up to be."

"Indeed. Atalanta's eyesight would be far more than su—" Karna stopped when she instantly left his embrace and appeared to be none the worse for wear.

Karna looked over his shoulder. She must not like affection in public capacities, of any kind, considering Rider of Black and the homunculus were walking over. He would remember that.

"Yo~!" Rider of Black interrupted them, with the homunculus in tow.

The latter kept stealing glances at him, as if Karna was going to disappear or move suddenly.

Karna raised an eyebrow, startling the homunculus who blushed lightly and looked away.

He had the air of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But up close, Karna could finally discern the link between the two that denoted them as Master and Servant. That satisfied him, to know Siegfried's legacy had a protector.

"I'm Astolfo, one of the twelve Paladins of Charlemagne! Nice to meet you, Karna!" he continued, coming into both of their personal spaces.

Karna's manners and discipline made him nod as he met the homunculus's inquisitive stare with a calm one.

A throaty growl made itself known from Mordred as she voiced a complaint and they fell straight into a subdued argument.

Karna waited patiently for the homunculus to ask whatever bothered him.

"...you're...Lancer of Red, right?" He had a strange look on his face as if he wanted to say something.

Astolfo broke off from a staring contest with Mordred and looked between the two, before rounding on Karna. "Hey, Karna...you aren't thinking of fighting him right now?"

Karna shook his head. He might have been terrible at social norms, but he knew enough to not investigate him right now.

"He's Sieg," Mordred said, sounding conflicted. Like she wanted to throttle and back Sieg at the same time.

"It is a fine name and way to honor him," Karna commented, meaning it.

Sieg's smile was awkward; he at least knew how to smile. However, it was genuine.

Astolfo beamed and patted Karna on the shoulder, laughing in approval. It seemed the compliment was the correct choice.

"At least one Servant in this War can be respectful!"

Mordred blew up and shoved Astolfo away. "Why don't you know the meaning of 'personal space'?! This is the third time in less than hour!"

He yelled in surprise as he tripped and fell onto his butt before she joined him. While Mordred shouted at Astolfo about no-good knights and audacity, he rested his eyes, one still tingling from Brahmastra, until he heard a sigh from Sieg.

"Ah..." Sieg blinked, unsure, glancing at Karna for what to do.

He let her take her anger out on Astolfo for another few seconds before hauling her off Astolfo by grabbing her under the arms.

"Rider, are you okay?" Sieg knelt next to him.

"Boy...that was rough..." Astolfo yawned, trying to massage his light bruises. "You sure don't play fair..."

Mordred hissed a curse that involved creative uses of a branch after escaping Karna's hold.

"No...I don't think I want to..." he said after Karna gave up and stood between the two.

Vlad's interjection of sensing the approaching Servant first stopped all the conversations. It was then did Atalanta reunite with them, heaving for air, but not from her dashing. A command spell had compelled her to take the longest path and slow herself down, she explained. Then the news she came bearing bore down on Vlad, Astolfo, and Chiron's shoulders and shelved the matter of Amakusa Shirou Tokisada for the moment.

Everyone but Jeanne, Achilles, and Sieg moved off to the side. Mordred muttered something about "a seriously weird relationship" to him when he hesitated so he left it alone.

"Solomon ibn Gabirol," Chiron started. "He is a golemancer who has a troublesome Noble Phantasm, seeing as it requires a compatible Magus to serve as its core."

"Then that boy…" Atalanta's teeth gnashed together. Rage caused her hands to tremble.

Astolfo gave her a wide berth and wide eyes.

"A boy?" Chiron asked sharply. "Did he have orange hair? Small, maybe in his adolescent years?"

At Atalanta's confused nod, he rubbed his forehead.

"That boy was Roche Frain Yggdmillennia, his Master." He exhaled, anger building in his words. "To think, he would sacrifice his own student and Master. That traitor is going to face my judgement. I wish to never understand why Avicebron could betray the sacred trust of a student and his mentor."

Mordred's eye drilled into his. Chiron met her unspoken accusation evenly.

Karna raised an eyebrow. _Then it is likely he had been the one to face Achilles before Spartacus forced their hands._

"Dammit." Astolfo held his face in his hands, sagging into himself. "I saved my Master from that fate, but to just have an innocent person take his place seriously sucks!"

"A person who would kill a child could have done worse, I suspect, if given a free choice." Atalanta scowled. "It was to happen either way."

"I am in complete agreement, Archers of Black and Red. We cannot a traitor like that roam free, thinking he is immune from consequences," Vlad agreed icily. A muted version of his famed killing intent saturated the area for a few minutes.

Karna crossed his arms. "You said he has a troublesome Noble Phantasm, Archer of Black, but what exactly makes it so?"

"Is everyone here familiar with the legend of Eden?" Chiron looked around and continued when there were no objections. "What I believe is the most dangerous about this Noble Phantasm, is Adam's healing process. Due to the blessing of the earth, acting as an autonomous Reality Marble, the golem can influence his environment into an alien world by virtue of existing. In Paradise, the concept of bloodshed did not exist. Therefore, his wounds would never happen—or the equivalent of nigh-infinite regeneration."

Mordred shrugged. "We'll just rip the golem apart before it can find Eden here."

Chiron shook his head. "Do not take offense, but it is not as simple. The longer we dither here, the more our chances of seeing the sunrise dwindle. I have my suspicions that Avicebron will attempt to make Adam 'exist' as long as he can to maximize its power. But nor can we rush blindly into it, although, I will recommend setting out before the hour ends."

"We shall have to play it by ear." Vlad paced back and forth. "But as heroes, we are used to collecting the laurels of victory from these situations."

"Then that leaves it to Lancer, Archer, and Rider of Black; Lancer, Archer, and Saber of Red; and possibly Ruler to take on Caster's golem." Chiron concluded. "...there is also the matter of Sieg and his new potential—"

"—he's not able to transform again," Jeanne finally joined them, looking annoyed and apologetic at the same time. "His body can't handle the pressure right now. I believe it is because of the way he tapped into this last-minute power and his current wounds."

Chiron and Vlad talked with their eyes at each other.

"Well, I'd prefer my Master to not have to fight, and seeing as we've got a bunch of ultra-rare, super strong Heroic Spirits here, we should be fine!" Astolfo beamed. "With Chiron's wisdom, we're unstoppable!"

"More than half of us are dead on our feet, you fool." Atalanta scowled. "And stop glaring a hole into my head. It is highly ineffective."

"If necessary, I can use a command spell to bolster those who are not feeling well, but then Amakusa Shirou would take advantage of the situation to counter it." Jeanne pursed her lips. "I won't use them, unless it comes down to the wire. The threat is already enough as it is."

"Mutually assured destruction, huh?" Mordred grinned and nudged Karna. "I like those odds." She stretched her arms. "So, shall we get the invalids off the field before kicking off this party of motley heroes?"

Karna didn't respond, finding himself reflecting on Adam—the instant Chiron mentioned nigh-invulnerable healing, he had an odd omen of imminent sacrifice.

"Motley?" Vlad repeated incredulously. "As I see it, aside from our Archer and Rider, and Ruler, the rest are members of nobility in some form. Perhaps your sight is not the only part compromised, Saber of Red."

 _"Oh, I'll show you_ _compromised_..." she muttered but didn't move from Karna's side.

Although, Mordred would have strong words about what Karna contemplated, to defeat the golem. It would be returning the favor for how concerned he was at seeing her injured eye. At least, he assumed.

"Hey, hey, Vlad, look at what we've got here!" Astolfo took over, grinning at Mordred's halfhearted irritation. "The knight in shining armor that doesn't follow any kingships except herself—" he moved on quickly after her irritation became volcanic. "—sorrysorrysorry! _I'm sorrrrrryyyyy!_ "

"Call me a woman again and I'll have your head," she snarled.

"Saber, please." Chiron soothed her. "It is merely how he is."

"Ugh, fine. I got it, I got it…"

The realization never failed to surprise him; to think a person with an epithet like hers would come to care for him like that.

Astolfo took his time skipping up to each person that he described, dancing in place with pizzazz.

"A centaur who's not even a centaur right now."

Chiron coughed to hide a smile.

Achilles saw him as an equal.

"A huntress whose appearance is like the very prey she hunts—by the way, those ears and tail are really cute!"

Atalanta wisely stayed away from this conversation by choosing to check over Mordred.

Even Atalanta's protectiveness expanded past the usual for a fellow comrade in her views.

"A monarch who is actually rather considerate despite his reputation."

Vlad looked satisfied and appeased.

Should he, the sun, become a supernova, this flaming star would become ashes drifting in the cosmic belts.

"An angelic Saint who won't hesitate to take up her flag."

Jeanne almost facepalmed, groaning quietly to herself.

 _But._

"A spearman who is as beautiful and dangerous as his spear."

Karna—the Hero of Charity would use the Noble Phantasm without hesitation if asked. _Vaikartana, Rashmirathi, Suryaputra, Danavira._

Vasusena—the charioteer's son, would think twice. _Radheya, Angaraja, Vrisha, Sutapruta._

"Uhhhh...are you silent, like silent-mad, or silent-pleased?" Astolfo squinted.

The only name that stayed with him in any category was Kaunteya. Kunti's son. He was a son to be passed between the Pandavas and Kauravas. _But_ I am _Surya's son!_ he had wailed a long time ago when such luxuries weren't allowed.

He swallowed and the lump passed.

To himself, he was a spear. But to the others, he was more than that, worth more in ways beyond the weight of his name.

"Lancer of Red...?" Chiron glanced at him.

 _I have friends and a family again_ , he told himself. He had always been both and both guided his decisions when stuck at a crossroad. To think that this crossroad would appear only in his second life was a predicament he cursed heavily. He was the brother of Mordred, Atalanta, and Achilles now. He had to sacrifice Kavacha and Kundala for his family. Even if it meant sacrificing the first gift from his divine father—who wouldn't disown him for it. Praise him, even, for displaying his loyalty in his second life.

It wasn't like he was choosing one family over the other but Karna's throat went dry. They were each others' suns.

His entire body burned, but not from the fire that scorched stakes.

"This might be the most indecisive moment I've experienced in a while." Bitter amusement followed the thought as an unfortunate reminder.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and he jolted out of the muses' trap.

He had once thought it a harmless habit around the ancient people of India, but it was different around heroes of the same fame. Karna fought the urge to blush like a student caught daydreaming. But that was what he was, in the end. Vasusena. _I had been Vasusena long before Karna appeared on the golden horizon._

"Yo! Hey, _hey!_ Oi! Kar—na~!" Astolfo was summarily shoved out of his face by Mordred.

"Quiet down, you," she grumbled, holding her arms out.

"I was just wondering why he was so deep in thought!" He pouted after stumbling back. "C'mon Saber, that happens when you get a light bulb, right?!"

"No."

"I don't think that's how the Grail intended that slang to be used," Jeanne said.

Atalanta touched his shoulder lightly. "I feel as if we could have a statue take your place and it would be no different," she joked but it didn't reach her worried eyes.

"Forgive me. But to answer Rider's question: yes. I was judging the thresholds Adam presented to us." He met the collection of unamused faces with a calm expression.

Vlad coughed.

"Then I suppose you haven't heard what I've just said." He judged him with a raised eyebrow.

Karna was unimpressed.

"Just tell the man without mounting your fancy horse!" Astolfo pushed against Mordred's arms, practically running in place.

"Rider…" Chiron pulled Astolfo away from Vlad and Mordred's ranges.

Vlad relaxed his previously hardening face. "Darnic has informed me that the Hanging Gardens is stealing the Greater Grail as you said. By the time we rendezvous there, Assassin of Red would make off with it. Which pushes Avicebron's Adam to be a distraction— _an_ _obstacle_ , before we can pursue."

Karna exhaled slowly and took in Jeanne's bared stress, confirming it.

"This is the highest priority, even more than having the Great Holy Grail War be conducted, obviously," she said softly. "But I don't like it. Amakusa Shirou Tokisada can either be a Caster or a Ruler, and the Caster was confirmed to have been a woman in the Third Holy Grail War, so he was the substitute Heroic Spirit for the Einzberns. What could a Ruler-class Servant possibly wish for? It goes against everything about the class's impartiality."

"Do you believe that he'd been incarnated at the end?" Atalanta asked.

Jeanne nodded. "Despite all the tinkering Magi may try to attempt, there can only be one Ruler summoned per Grail War. If Amakusa Shirou were to be incarnated by the time I was called upon to arbitrate...well, there is the loophole."

Atalanta's wish hinged on the Greater Grail. That was what appeared to him first and Atalanta biting her lip.

Karna covered his mouth to hide a twitch in his lips.

"If that is settled—well...? What do you have to say—" Vlad was interrupted by Chiron.

 _Your bias toward me_ is _astounding._ Karna raised his head calmly. _However, I should not be dwelling on this right now._

"—Lancer, does something ail you?" Chiron gave an apologetic glance to Vlad who accepted it with a sigh.

Then Adam needed to be dealt with swiftly. If what Chiron said was true, then the Noble Phantasm would be beyond the power of even excellent Heroic Spirits like Mordred and Jeanne d'Arc.

Karna closed his eyes. "I'll use the thunder javelin Lord Indra gave to me so many eons ago." He opened them and his teeth chattered until he bit the inside of his lip to stop his body from shuddering.

 _Blasphemy, would be what many demigods would say._

"The thunder javelin…?" Astolfo tilted his head. "That doesn't ring a bell."

The sharp inhale from Jeanne startled everyone sans Karna.

 _"Vasavi Shakti?!"_ she stared at him in abject shock. "But Lancer, that would break your body, and we must consider Amakusa Shirou Tokisada! Not to mention the issue of having only one strike granted..."

"You are rather concerned," Karna noted. "Did you desire to shoulder the burden and not allow anyone to take it from you? That can bring nothing but trouble, from obstinacy alone."

"Lancer of Red!" Jeanne snapped, beating Atalanta to it, shock drifting away to give room for annoyance. Though a slight touch of hesitancy formed in her intertwining hands.

"...okay, now...it's familiar." Astolfo gave Karna a strained grin.

He ignored Astolfo.

"Archer, does she refer to the legend of Lancer of Red peeling away his armor for a pagan god's weapon?" Vlad looked to Chiron who nodded uneasily, and watched Karna carefully. "It seems I had been outclassed from the start." Frustration and unease mixed together to coat over his tone.

"Lancer—" Chiron inhaled. "That is...a tremendous sacrifice. Are you _sure?"_

Jeanne and Chiron's combined stares made him feel a little uncomfortable—he was completely willing to use it.

Regardless of the sentiment, Karna dipped his head. It was stiff and a jerky movement, as if his body seized up upon the mere thought of ripping his armor off again. Acknowledging it out loud made him feel as if he was rehearsing for the actual feat. Similar to phantom pains, he supposed. In a pre-destined fashion, of course.

"Dammit _Karna_ ," Atalanta murmured and the grip on his shoulder tightened. "I don't want to say it but are there any other plans available?" Her hand was reluctant to leave but that warmth left eventually.

He gave her a rueful smile at the pain in her eyes.

"Well, it all depends on how complete Adam is when Caster comes back," Chiron answered. "I have no fears about Vasavi Shakti failing to destroy the Primordial Giant—but before we do anything rash, allow me to analyze it with my eyes. I believe there's a saying: 'counting your eggs before they hatch' which applies to this situation."

"I cannot believe I am saying this, but I agree." Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lancer of Red is a mighty ally, and despite his mana consumption, his armor is highly needed if we are to storm the Hanging Gardens."

Jeanne just blinked at Vlad, forgetting Karna in the moment.

"That's rare of you to be giving out a compliment, especially after such a tumultuous time." Chiron smiled at Vlad. "Perhaps, you are truly learning some of the advice I've given out to people in Yggdmillennia."

"A king must learn to accept wisdom with dignity and learn from it. Otherwise, he is to be the bigger fool."

Mordred's hand grabbed his in the meantime and he turned to see strange emotions swirling in her single, darkening, eye after meeting her gaze questioningly.

She was silent.


	14. Chapter 11

In the back of his mind, he noticed the Hanging Gardens drifting away. So they must have the Greater Grail in their clutches though he couldn't exactly sense it. But he could sense the impatience from Vlad and agitation from Atalanta and Jeanne.

Karna sighed.

Mordred was the immediate priority here. Few people made him anxious for their approval.

However, he felt the full brunt of the other Servants' staring settle onto him like a flock of vultures. Had the situation not been so tense, he'd assume them to be circling for drama. Rather unbecoming of Heroic Spirits.

He resisted the urge to ask Mordred to hold this conversation elsewhere. Especially when Vlad and Chiron started muttering to each other. Jeanne being concerned for them made him feel a little better. While Atalanta stayed with them, she switched to Mordred's side, knowing Karna could handle himself. Out of all of them, Astolfo was the most inquisitive.

"I don't want you to do this," Mordred said. "That's pretty obvious...but I gotta say it."

She fidgeted under his steady gaze.

"Are you saying this as my knight as or my king?" He said when he could pose it with no rudeness.

"What?"

"Are you acting as a knight or a king?" He held up his free hand to stop her. "You cannot combine the two—it would lead to a path of self-destructive behavior from moral conflicts. You must choose one."

A flurry of conflicting emotions swept across her face.

"I'm saying it as _Mordred_ ," she answered after consideration.

"Um, are they having a moment?" Astolfo whispered to Chiron who shook his head.

After glimpsing her determined face, he knew Mordred, the knight, and the king to be the three facets of her inner self. With this question, he believed the desires of being king were banished, and looked back on as a dreamlike memory. Preening and prideful when acknowledged as a kingly figure was to be expected from ingrained lessons but it was good that she was beginning to live as herself—by thinking about her needs.

He smiled. "Then that is why I'm using Vasavi Shakti."

Mordred threw up her hands, forgetting that they were anchored to his. As his arm followed hers to the sky, she said, "Of course I understand necessary sacrifices. Hell, I'm raring to go kill Adam, but this is something I can't really help feeling nervous about!"

"Hold on...is it your [Instinct], Saber?" Jeanne asked.

"Yeah." Mordred looked to the side. "Dammit—I just...can't right now."

"I _will_ come back." Karna rubbed the ridges of her hand absently. "Do you really believe I won't?"

"Of course you'll be back! I'm just saying, you'd better come back without any more wounds." She poked the gemstone in his chest to make a point.

"Then be the one to drive the chariot under me," Karna said.

"Roger that," she said and her fearless grin reassured him.

"...isn't that assuming you're fast enough—" Astolfo's comment was silenced by Mordred's murderous glare.

Jeanne huffed. "While I wouldn't—"

Plants and grass flourished underneath. Ethereal particles molded from green light escaped their petals and roots.

The slumbering giant called Adam surfaced on the farthest mountain, limbs forming at an alarming rate.

Astolfo yelped and flailed, crushing flowers like he was stepping on a bed of boiling coal.

"It's [Divine]—" Jeanne finished in a daze.

She and Vlad could only stare.

Karna supposed that for her and Vlad, it wouldn't come across as 'fearsome' or 'powerful'. If anything, 'wondrous' and 'splendid' would be more appropriate. It was the pearl of the Abrahamic God's work, the only being ordained to come into life veiled in glory. A being that walked out of the tattered pages from their holy literature.

Mordred's hand left his as she turned around.

Eden, an autonomous Reality Marble, flowed across the lands in a gushing dam, broken by the rising golem. Adam wouldn't have been out of place among these sloping mountains, green as the grass mantles sprawling across them. After casting out his senses, he judged Eden to have consumed the immediate area, perhaps five miles diameter-wise. Though the Reality Marble curbed itself after the initial push, it slithered to the Heroic Spirits gathered.

He shifted his feet when a plant snuggled against his shin.

"Salvation for the world…" Karna's eyes narrowed at the voice washing over them like a landslide. "I'll save the world. Sadness will be a forgotten memory."

But in the end, he considered it a forgery. Made by human hands, not by divine hands. He, Atalanta, and Chiron knew what true [Divine] entities were like. Their splendor and grace could not be fabricated or mimicked.

"I'll revive the world." Adam seemed to square his shoulders in a human-like manner. "Paradise is almost here. I'll let people return to Eden!"

Those words struck a dissatisfied chord inside Karna.

"Adam has to be over five hundred meters at the very least!" Jeanne clenched her holy flag, jaw clenched. "He's halfway to completion!"

"Some final boss it is," Mordred muttered under her breath.

"Allow me to test a hypothesis," Chiron said, stepping forth.

"We've got nothing to lose—" Astolfo shrugged, having calmed down surprisingly quick.

Jeanne, Atalanta, and Vlad stared at him until his grin slipped off.

"My Noble Phantasm, Antares Snipe, is an A-Rank." Chiron's eyes bathed in concentration and a certain constellation flared bright. "It will track the weak spot—and Adam's reactor cores are wide open."

They watched the shooting star gilded in mana plunge to bounce off Adam's head and explode in the sky.

Golden illuminations lingered to cast shadows over their faces.

Adam scraped the sky when it reached its full height, ignoring what might as well have been a poke.

Mordred's chortling broke the silence. Vlad gave her a look but it escalated the choked laughter she let loose.

"Antares Snipe may not be all that powerful, but it is still a Noble Phantasm." Chiron shook his head in irritated amazement.

"...what about Brahmastra Kundala, Lancer of Red?" Jeanne said.

"No."

"You'll say that so bluntly?!"

"My spiritual core is unable to handle the stress. I would collapse and therefore eliminate Vasavi Shakti from our options."

Jeanne sighed in resignation but didn't push.

"That was because you spammed [Mana Burst]: Flames against Assassin of Black, right?" Mordred asked.

Karna waited for the Grail's translation and continued, "Correct. Brahmastra Kundala is the combination of Brahmastra and my [Mana Burst]: Flames. And Atalanta, please."

"It wasn't a mistake." Atalanta humored him and repeated it again to herself.

Sieg's untimely arrival with a still sleeping Achilles in a textbook fireman's carry thwarted Karna from examining her closer. Atalanta took Achilles from Sieg with a careful nod and Sieg smiled hesitantly before joining Astolfo and Chiron.

"Archer of Black, do you know why Adam's growth accelerated like this?" Sieg asked Chiron.

"Caster must have used himself as nourishment for Adam from the start, after Archer took her leave," Chiron explained after everyone refocused on him. "By letting the golem take on his seasoned intellect, he's managed to let that Reality Marble hide and grow strong."

"Waitwaitwait! What about the populace?!" Astolfo slapped him on the back until a gentle push against his face stopped it. "We can't hide something like that!"

Vlad cleared his throat and everyone looked to him. Regal in voice and appearance, he commanded a valiant presence. In charge of this ragtag group, he seemed to be at ease, secure even. A valorous edge sharpened his posture.

"I am not worried about any outsiders, Rider. There will not be any with the citadel's lights on. Moreover, this is mountain country." He paused. "If necessary, inform Yggdmillennia that the Masters are to leave. But everyone, Ruler and I will escort Lancer as far as we can while the rest of you will relocate to the outer limits. There are still some of Assassin of Red's minions patrolling."

"My thanks, lord of this land." Vlad acknowledged Karna's words with a grunt.

"When the lights are on, the people are forbidden to even leave their homes," Chiron said to Atalanta who nodded in understanding. "I'd still like us to do a perimeter sweep, as the swiftest Servants present."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. Achilles will be in my care and I cannot trust anyone besides Mordred and Karna." Atalanta dismissed him with a turned head. "You understand, right?"

His frown was analytical, mental gears whirling away.

Astolfo barging into the conversation stopped Chiron from speaking his thoughts on the matter.

"Then my Master and I'll be going with you!" He dragged Sieg over to his side, beaming. "With my Hippogriff, we'll be fine!"

"Rider..."

Chiron sighed but didn't refuse his offer. The three set off after the Hippogriff materialized, looking at Astolfo with some resentment but didn't stop him and Sieg from jumping into the saddle. The head smacking probably dissuaded it.

Karna glanced at Mordred. She was observing the golem, both dumbfounded and annoyed.

He touched her shoulder lightly.

A puff blew a bang out of her face before resettling in the same spot. Mordred stared at it before shaking her head. "This isn't the time, so...you— _be careful."_

"I know."

"Lancer, are you ready?" Jeanne asked once Mordred left with Atalanta.

Karna nodded and they sprinted to the towering golem.

It hurled obsidian swords as soon as it sighted them and Karna jumped out of the way, not bothering to waste time in breaking it apart.

Vlad and Jeanne took up the front rear sides. Stragglers, both Dragon Tooth Warriors and golems, fell victim to Kazikli Bey and the holy standard. A rather strange juxtaposition, he supposed. The golden Saint cast in a golden light and the Lord of Impalement shrouded by a veil of darkness. But here they were, working together.

His skin itched. As if insects decided to burrow under and if butterflies spread their winds inside his stomach.

...he really was worrying about this, if he was forming simple, transparent observations based on his companions. His mind may be steel and his will unbreakable and yet Karna's breathing deepened.

"—we're here," Karna said to himself, at the demolished forests' entrance.

He stood on a precipice.

"May victory be with you." Jeanne nodded at him before the two darted away, Vlad shooting him an inscrutable look.

Karna watched them retreat, a melancholic nostalgia swirling about inside. Well, it was somewhat similar along the lines. Except nostalgia was supposed to feel like a calm lake and this was more like a waterfall, spewing promised pain.

Sighing, he knew he should get this over with and looked up. He observed Adam's alien eyeballs rotate to fix onto him, suddenly aware of his skin and armor.

A quick slash upward with his spear and the obsidian sword became rubble.

Unbound flames tore down the night's curtain as he ascended to the heavens.

"Surya, my divine father, I ask for your understanding. For the first and last time," he murmured as the only gift from him went up in flames.

Crystallized sunlight shattered.

For the sole fact that he was doing so to protect this family, it lessened the blow of instinctual betrayal to his divine father.

But he never once wavered and kept an iron leash on his focus even though he was reliving this agony. How his skin peeled, how excruciating it was to breathe, how the blood trickled from every inch of his body. None of those sensations moved him. He kept the image of Mordred's fearless grin, Atalanta's hand on the small of his back, and Achilles's shoulder-hug close to his heart.

Solar winds fanned the sky's inferno.

Adam trudged on.

Disapproval led a clear path for his words.

"It is not your right to bestow the gift of 'salvation' on humanity," Karna started.

He endured the brimming power in silence, until the spear manifested for him to grasp. Enormous was not the right word to describe it even if it dwarfed his body. A word like that implied imperfection. Immense was more suitable because Vasavi Shakti was a [Divine Construct]. It was a perfect spear that not even Indra himself could use properly.

Upon grabbing it, the rush of power at his fingers reminded him that he was a supernova, hypernova even, at this moment.

The earth exploded under uninhibited gravity.

Lava spewed forth from glowing mouths.

"Caster, your dream may have been forged out of good will, but this is not the way to go about it. This is not a panacea—this is a plague."

The god-slaying thunder javelin was not done yet. Heat waves rumbled in agreement.

An ocean of molten gold turned the earth beneath him into the sun's surface. A white light blurred his world as Adam's feet were swallowed by the expanding ocean and ceased moving.

"Salvation cannot be achieved by a third-party! To do so otherwise, is damnation! You who would treat humanity as a pack of barely sentient animals—"

Karna aimed Vasavi Shakti at Adam.

"—know the mercy of the King of Gods!"

Formed and flung, obsidian swords were consumed by the supernova's flames.

"The Primordial Human shall meet its _sunset!"_

All his energy went into this one attack.

Vasavi Shakti quivered in absolute power.

"With this one strike, I shall inflict extinction! Indra, observe me."

Exalted by red sunlight, the thunder javelin sought liberation through fracturing gold. Not even anything shy of Heroic Spirit Karna's will could hold back this blow.

"Incinerate them— _Vasavi Shakti!"_

The released beam may have been thin and narrow but the thundering power was anything but. It raced toward Adam who could do nothing to protect itself. There wasn't any other outcomes than complete destruction. An imperfect [Divine] being, much less a god, could survive such a blow. The hypernova purged Adam from this world and left no indications that it had ever existed.

He felt incredibly hollow at this frozen moment. Had Prometheus and Mātariśvan stolen their flames from the sun then he could use them as a closer analogy, though he felt like Vasavi Shakti stole his flames already. The Noble Phantasm was another story when his mana reserves weren't at full capacity.

Vasavi Shakti shattered and materialized into a golden spear, stabbing the earth after plummeting. He followed at the same time. Karna struck the cooling earth on his stomach, leaving a crater, but he was so exhausted and weakened that any additional injuries couldn't bother him anymore.

His sight wavered while he tried to gather the remnants of his mana. He had no idea how long he laid there but the approaching signature of a Servant injected something similar to adrenaline, allowing his elbows to support him, as he raised his head,

"Karna!" Mordred's call broke through his hazy vision.

The uncontrollable spasms went on, feeling like he had been run over by Krishna's chariot multiple times and dragged through a field by Bhima for "mocking one's social inferiors time."

A harsh pounding in his head was born.

" _Rider, Lancer, and Archer of Red, teleport to the Hanging Gardens."_

He choked on spit and a little blood as the command spell stomped on his bones with a sharp fervor, aching in a fierce intensity. But his muscles refused to work and his limbs shuddered. Fingers curled inward, hollow from losing sensations.

Mana gushed forth to change that.

His heart constricted but not from the command spell.

Mordred's blonde hair came into view and he raised a hand in an attempt to warn her.

"Karna—" her eye widened, breaking to a stop.

He had enough time to see the dismay form as the command spell dragged him to the Hanging Gardens by the collar, blurring the cloak of night and stitched stars into one black void. Awareness came back when he landed on his side in a pool and vomited afterward. He wheezed as stomach acid burned his mouth. Blood trickled from his lips.

Nausea presented a deep persistent throbbing that pulsed in time with the destruction's wake from Atalanta and Semiramis. A verdant blur chased by purple mana.

Though his chest seized up and his limbs stayed dead weight, he had only one thing running through his mind. Shame made him breathless and anger squeezed his eyes shut. Not once had he found a problem with his charitable vows; Indra's ploy and gamble was another request to be fulfilled, if not slightly dangerous due to the nature of said request. So this should've been made simple in comparison.

He broke his word.

—

"Achilles is gone too!" Astolfo's shout went unnoticed because she already knew it in her _heart_.

"Bring them back now!" Mordred howled and whipped around to sprint over to Jeanne, seizing her by the shoulders. Her stiff hands screamed but she didn't get a damn, gnashing her teeth together to bear it. "You've got those fancy tattoos for a reason!"

She averted her gaze, reluctant to meet Mordred. Her face held nothing but pity for her but steel controlled her tone.

"...I'm sorry...but I cannot."

"What the hell?!" She yelled but it felt closer to being a full-on wail. "Are—are...you kidding me— _this isn't the time for a fucking joke!"_

"Saber! I'm as outraged as you are, but we need to think about the bigger picture!" Chiron darted over and shoved Jeanne back before bringing in Mordred for an embrace that locked her arms to her side.

She writhed. _Pankration?!_

Chiron didn't budge.

He switched to holding her up in the air like a misbehaving kitten when she wanted to chew his nose off. This had the unfortunate effect of making her inner contents about to purge itself with no target for her anger.

"Okay." Mordred started after glaring down at his stupidly-calm face and stopped moving. "Then here's the _damn picture_. We've got _three_ of our _best_ Servants on the Hanging Gardens, basically at Assassin's _lack of_ mercy. Achilles and Karna _are_ out of _commission_ and Atalanta can't take on Assassin by _herself_. You really...really... _think_ Achilles can get out of this alive? Assassin _hates_ his ass and I'd bet my sword that he'll _lose_!"

Her seething filled in for the heavy silence.

She barely registered Vlad, Astolfo, and Sieg making their way over to the three. While Vlad had an unsettled air to him, Sieg and Astolfo were unabashedly open with their surprise.

"Saber…" Astolfo said in sympathy she didn't ask for.

After fourteen seconds stretched out to an eternity, Chiron inhaled sharply and the calm but forceful facade fractured with the agitation in his eyes. _Oh yeah, now you'll be concerned since you don't have to fight your student! Real great. He's your son_ — _your brother, your student!_

Mordred kicked his shins.

He bore it without a complaint.

That fueled her eruption.

"He called you family—fuck it, I'm quitting this farce. I hate you. You betrayed that trust." She snarled. "You are a complete son of a bitch for how you fought him! I don't give a shit that the damn War can have relatives fight each other but there are so many better ways to go about it!"

Achilles's carefree smile when he talked about Chiron was like savoring the first bite of a pastry. Warm like the summer winds. Charming like blooming flowers in springtime. He had been so quiet, so careful, so genuine, so respectful. A child's look who's entire world loved him but he saw only one person.

The thought seared her mind— _he can't end up like my failure of a relationship with Father!_

"At least have the damn decency to act true to yourself! Anything is better than just cutting him off—"

Chiron's arms stiffened and the bind disappeared.

"— _yes. I do,"_ he said. "I have to because I have raised him for many years. I have to because his stubbornness is greater than any indulgent god on Olympus. I have to because I must apologize…" He embraced her.

More for his sake than hers, she understood. But empathy couldn't be conjured up. _You can't just take back your mistakes after being so cruel to your son._

"...but please think about Ruler's command spells and the amount Amakusa Shirou possesses," he whispered.

Mordred had no idea how to react to that display of weakness. All she could do was breathe and disassociate as the earth caught her feet. He didn't let go though.

She gritted her teeth. The hurricane's winds been stolen from her sails. _But that's how I stay on task...right?_

But she snapped her head to the side when Vlad and his rich voice cut into their feud. "Indeed. Archer has the right idea. If Ruler were to use a command spell in snatching them back from his scheming palms, then he would simply do it again—"

"—Ruler hasn't even used any of hers."

"I have not," Jeanne agreed, closing her eyes as she continued, "but he may use up the last one just to spite us. And we have no additional Masters to anchor them to this plane. I can contract with only one other Servant, and even then, Archer is the least draining. ...I doubt my ability to support Lancer or Rider." They opened to reveal two pools of shimmering amethyst.

Vlad folded his arms, scrutinizing Mordred. "Still, Saber, I understand why you would rage at the thought for Lancer but for—"

"—Amakusa Shirou Tokisada stole my family."

He fell silent.

She paid him no mind.

She hadn't moved on from the Knight of Treachery's legend if every inch of her body craved to lop his head off and let the scavengers have their fill. No need to have the jury convict him when she was here. The judge and executioner. That was the basis of her life, to persecute the enemies of King Arthur. To dole out punishment to the unjust.

Killing Amakusa Shirou for this didn't bother her in the slightest. Far from it. She wanted to fight him instantly after the revelation. However, learning of Atalanta's reaction to Karna burning away [Jack's Ghosts] unnerved Mordred. She didn't have any Noble Phantasms like Agrius Metamorphosis, but her natural state sure felt a hell lot like it—before she met her family.

Sometimes she killed innocents on accident. Because they were in the way. During one of those impromptu moments or whatever they were called. She apologized and made reparations. Life went on. Quests to do, beasts to slay. Those kind of things were more important.

 _This is all I know_ — _all I have_ _ever known. And now, I have to play the role of those damn knights who cared more for manners._

Jeanne's hands on both of their shoulders seized her from her thoughts.

"—I swear it, by the name of Jeanne d'Arc. We _will_ rescue them. That's why, Saber, please understand this for now."

The urge to thrash still reared its ugly head but like Chiron said, bringing them would end in tragedy.

Even so...even so, the tragedy would slay her heart if she had a hand in their downfall. She couldn't do that again.

"...I'll hold you to that." Mordred rubbed her bad eye when Chiron released her completely and moved back.

"So what now?" Astolfo looked to Chiron.

Anticipation played her heartstrings like a broken lute.

The exhale was so low it went almost unnoticed. "We wait for Atropos to stay her hand and Clotho and Lachesis to keep their threads intact."

—

He dreamed of verdant stars, golden suns, red quasars, and orange comets while enjoying the fact that he couldn't feel his broken ribs while sleeping. Achilles hadn't the faintest idea of how long he'd been asleep, but it was enough to at least get them back where they should be. Far, far away from his squishy organs.

But he would be lying if he said that he wanted to sleep until they were completely fixed.

"Fuck," he said when he was roused by hot hands.

Shaky vision presented blurry white hair as Achilles was pulled upright, lanky arms holding his back. He furiously blinked the seeping liquids out of his eyes and rubbed them with the hand that hurt less. It refocused into Karna's sweaty face and concern had creased his eyebrows.

"You must be better now if you can say such words like that," he murmured, glancing to the side and returned his gaze to Achilles after he sighed.

"There's always time for complaining." Achilles tested his arms. Sore but intact.

Mana consolidating around them stopped Karna's question from being realized. Purple runes traced a wide circle and glowed underneath. Black chains forced them together, his chest flush with Karna's. A slight twinge of pain erupted in his stomach and he forced it to sink into oblivion. Karna's dead weight squashed his legs.

"Uh," Achilles said once it was gone. "Is Caster of Black mad at you or something?"

Karna didn't answer, grunting as he tried to dislodge them by pushing against the binding carefully.

 _Oh, that can't be good for my ribs._ Achilles grimaced as lanky arms dug into his spine. But something about this was all off-kilter. He should be understanding the situation and it won't come to him.

Did Spartacus give him a concussion?

"Is this a prank? Aren't we still in Yggdmillennia's fields?" Achilles took his turn in testing it by flexing his arm muscles.

Nothing. He was still drained enough to not break it without hurting himself again.

Karna stopped resisting, pinning him in place with a certain look. That look made him feel as if he should be ashamed of saying something he already knew the answer to.

"Achilles."

"I don't mind this but I do mind Mordred. This is revenge for me one-upping her, isn't it?"

"Achilles."

"Where is she—"

" _—Achilles."_ This sigh dripped irritation…and a whiff of agitation...?

"I missed something good, didn't I?!"

"If you call 'Mordred witnessing us being summoned by command spells' good, then yes."

Achilles inspected the rampant tension flattened Karna's shoulders. Fatigue made itself known with shallow breaths and half-lidded eyes. Bloody specks stood out against pale skin.

He carefully craned his head back to see the white architecture, older than ancient Achaea, and creeping vines the color of winter grass make up his now-clearing vision.

"Why don't you tell me what the hell happened?" Achilles asked, uncomfortable with everything that was happening.

He laid out an abridged version that alarmed him, specifically, Mordred's mental state. She was a hardened warrior but there were limits to what sharp edges could accomplish.

"Shit, that's not good," Achilles muttered. "But what ab—Sis!"

Karna let out a long-suffering sigh. "I suspect your mind is still the same before Spartacus put you out of commission."

Achilles ignored him, trying to stand up despite Karna's dead weight and sigh, scanning for Atalanta, gaping when he did.

 _Wow..._ he really was out of it if he didn't notice the ensuing chaos. Or the command spell strong-arming him into teleporting to the Hanging Gardens.

"—Archer, you prove yourself to be like the very animals you hunted!"

"Is that truly a low insult, Assassin, when they are above your status?"

A frustrated snarl pursued a chuckle.

Atalanta evaded Semiramis's assault in a way that made the latter out to be foolish and rushing in blind. He couldn't help but be drawn to her graceful gait, awe and amazement casting her in a charismatic aura. Effortlessly dashing and breaking, she returned the favor with a hundred percent accuracy in shooting.

"Amazing..."

Peleus's stories shoved his immediate thoughts about Mordred off the cliffs. To see the Argonaut Atalanta in action was like cupping his hands around a falling star that knew his innate wish.

—

 _Keep your composure._

Mana swirled, rotated, revolved, and spun in the eddy that was the Greater Grail. Everyone recognized it; the slumbering giant beneath their feet in the Hanging Gardens' belly. An enormous container completely comprised of mana, she had no misgivings about failing to bless the world with her wish. Having considered that, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada persisted as the variable. Dangerous. Keeping his cards close to his chest. _What does he want? What could he possibly hope to gain from this?!_

Karna was bound by two command spells whereas Achilles and Atalanta were in the same boat with Mordred—one.

Did he mean to coerce Karna to his side in return for their well-being?

 _Keep your mind clear._

Ruminations took a backseat when she noticed Semiramis was aiming at Tauropolos, having manifested it upon teleportation. Amakusa Shirou appeared to fine with letting her take the initiative so she would play along for now.

A faded memory popped up while she cleared walls in a jump. Jason let dissenters on the Argo rampage as long as they wanted till all of it was expressed, though he tended to disappear during the destruction's wake and reappear when the coast was clear. Then he'd discuss and lead the Argonaut into agreeing what they did was wrong. The manipulative bastard. It wasn't unreasonable to think he was doing something like this.

 _Keep your anger close._

Atalanta breathed in and out.

The hunt had commenced.

[Crossing Arcadia] and [Aesthetics of the Last Spurt] worked seamlessly to allow Atalanta to treat this like her personal playground. She could afford to wait for Semiramis to take the initiative and leap out of range. Black chains and compact purple beams pursued her while she darted around, where twelve hours ago, she had been drilling herself. More than a few steps behind, they were made inelegant to her agility. These attacks were not on the same level compared to the ones Semiramis demolished the forest with, she understood. The mana inputs were of a paltrier effort.

"How long will you be able to keep this up, I wonder?" Semiramis snapped as she continued to focus on her.

She almost found a positive in this situation from Semiramis's irritation.

In regard to mana, Atalanta operated at half-capacity. _But that is good,_ she told herself. Achilles and Karna required a reprieve from the rest of this night's troubles at the very least. It mattered little to her that they were restrained. Though she loathed to admit it, Amakusa Shirou would prevent Semiramis from trying to abuse the wiggle room given.

 _They're hostages,_ she assumed. _Mordred must not have been taken along, otherwise she would be chancing Thanatos._ It changed nothing about how she was chained to this world by the fragility of a sole command spell. Atalanta was close to roaring from frustration.

Her ears picked up a hiss from Karna as he struggled. That broke what little self-restraint she possessed in engaging with the enemy's retorts.

"As long as I need!" She shouted back and released a series of shining arrows at Semiramis.

At the same time, she slid into an alcove that observed Semiramis and Amakusa Shirou, nocking two arrows. _Time to test the theory._

She watched prismatic fish scales form a shield, spreading from Semiramis's rigid arm. Of course, her arrows tore it apart but it took all of them to do so. Atalanta couldn't hide her frustration, groaning.

Semiramis rubbed her bloodied arm. The only retribution was a deadly glare after Amakusa Shirou frowned, peering at her two arrows.

Following that, the chains and beams ceased, gates closing except for the ones binding Achilles and Karna.

A sign of goodwill?

Two bounding leaps later, Atalanta left the alcove and perched on a groaning column, stained by water and gouged by attacks. She waited for Semiramis's next move. Taut muscle kept the two arrows in place.

"As expected, one of the great bowmasters of Greece can destroy a sacred fish's scales without too much trouble." Semiramis narrowed her eyes. "Though, the bowmaster's demeanor leaves much to be desired."

She crouched. "There is nothing Tauropolos can pierce. Of course, that means I could've split your head from your shoulders."

Semiramis made an insulting noise. An angry frown rested on her lips.

"That would be tantamount to suicide, Archer, seeing as I am everyone's Master here." Amakusa Shirou smiled at her.

Semiramis had taken up a stance in front of him while he sat in the white gazebo. Unassuming in that black cassock and red mantle, he cut a watchful figure, confined to neutrality. Since he exuded the aura of a Servant's signature it was overturned.

A vein was close to popping in Atalanta's neck.

Achilles retorted for her and bypassed the marble walkways. Legs sloshed through the water while chains left reddening welts from where they bit into his tanned skin. As for the chains itself, the circle humored him by rolling out at an infinite length.

"I don't recall agreeing to this switch! A Master I haven't seen is still better than what you've done here!" He roared and flailed forth to wring Amakusa Shirou's neck.

"Achilles!" Atalanta shook off the oddity of Karna looking like a startled kitten being carried by his irate mother. "Be more conscious of the situation!"

"C'mon sis! You think I'll stop just cause I got slapped once or twice?!" He barked and Amakusa Shirou had the gall to chuckle at him and Karna's resignation.

Achilles growled low in his throat.

Semiramis stared in disapproval and snapped her fingers. The chains contracted and stopped rolling out. His knees buckled. Water splashed into his face. Gritting his teeth, he strained to even inch forward.

"Damn _—it!"_

"Do I not have a say in this?" Karna wondered.

Though Achilles and Karna couldn't be dragged in, currently spectators, Atalanta's stress was so thick it couldn't be cut by a [Divine Construct]. Amakusa Shirou kept a serene smile the whole time. It bothered her that he was content to let them have the moment so what would—something cold bit at her leg.

She glanced down.

A chain winded around her ankle. Similar to a snake waiting in the golden wheat fields of a city-state to catch her, the mouse who poked its head out of a safe burrow.

"Sis!"

She glanced up to see Semiramis's smirk.

Atalanta chewed the inside of her mouth to not give her further satisfaction the whole time she was flung like a rag doll into stone walls and marble floors. But. It. Hurt. Tauropolos shuddered in her death grip. The instant she felt a change in the chain's tightness, she catapulted forward to gnaw at it out of sheer rage. It snapped and she rolled into a landing, deposited on the gazebo's walkway, aiming the two arrows at Semiramis's head. While it wasn't to the same extent as Achilles, she knew at least one of her bones had been broken. Her right index finger was dislocated. Her sides were tender and ached like it had been jabbed by every elbow in a marketplace.

A wide portal opening in front of Semiramis prevented her from releasing the arrows. Something, _something_ , dangerous was lurking in it. It alarmed her hunter's instincts so much she wanted to lower Tauropolos and flee.

Amakusa Shirou interfered before Semiramis could gleefully summon whatever the hell it was.

"Assassin, don't you think that's enough? It _is_ possible to have a civil conversation without restraints." The corners of his mouth finally dropped and he got up. "Or threats."

Semiramis must have made her complaints known in their mental link since she turned away with only a huff, snapping her fingers again.

The portal faded.

Achilles and Karna collapsed onto their sides, the chains dissolving.

Atalanta hesitantly lowered her bow, recognizing the unspoken parole-like situation. Her battered body and pride refused to submit; the hunter's instinct chided her and forced Atalanta to listen. Achilles and Karna joined her when she found herself able to stand up. A quick glance for herself sated her concern. Achilles looked hale and hearty compared to when she first saw him. Karna was breathing deeply but that was to be expected; as long as he wasn't bleeding, it was fine for now.

The two arrows returned to her mana reserves as she popped her finger back into its socket, barely wincing.

"Have you had enough time to release your understandable frustration?" Amakusa Shirou stood at Semiramis's side like an attendant.

"Let us hear your side of this sordid affair already." Atalanta snorted. "Then I will decide for myself if my frustration has been sated."

"I will answer all questions truthfully," he said.

"Why have you decided to pursue the Greater Grail?" Karna took over.

Amakusa Shirou's words were irrefutable, possessing a pure conviction. "The salvation of all mankind. That was the purpose for which I required the Greater Grail. I required it, and so I acquired it…just as I required Servants to survive this Great War, so I acquired all of you."

Atalanta bristled. It made her out to be a bargaining chip, value's worth only in her mere existence. That had been exactly what the worthless king of Arcadia thought of her.

"The salvation of mankind?" Achilles repeated. "You've got some nerve deciding—" he gestured with a hand, "— _all of this without my consent._ What, were you too impatient to wait around for our Masters to play their parts?"

Semiramis shrugged at his glare. "But of course, we could hardly have them moving about as they pleased. However excellent, they are but Magi…ones who consider naught but how to surpass their fellows. They would only hamper us."

"Indeed, you are showing just how different you are to them and their self-centered ways."

Semiramis shot a dirty look at Karna for his quiet remark, and Shirou covered his snort with a hand.

"What if we do not wish to serve under you?" Atalanta said, not bothering to filter out her irritation.

 _However, salvation for all of humanity is the greater version of my own wish._ She felt bogged down in the mud and his wish was the rope. _We're out of options here._

"Simply put, I can sever the contract and you may join up with, I assume, the Black Faction."

"His word is true," Karna said when they glanced at him for confirmation.

Had the situation been less dire, she would've been pleased at her conjecture being in the right area.

She frowned after pondering the words. "You say you would let us go but there is no condition stopping you from bringing us to a near-death state then releasing the contract. However...you appear to assume one of us will at least side with this faction."

Semiramis's smile was coy.

Amakusa Shirou smiled awkwardly.

"Well, yes, there is that," he explained, "but a sporting chance is better than none at all. And yes, Archer, it is you I think of."

A little surprising, given Karna was the obvious choice, but Atalanta suspected her objectivity was leaps and bounds more solid than Mordred or Achilles.

"Oi, sis? You can't be..."

Jack the Ripper and Roche Frain Yggdmillennia's fates had cemented her decision. Atalanta nodded to herself. There was also something she could stand to gain from this arrangement besides the wish's component. This was the best option and way to ensure Team AKAM and her wish were balanced—and realized.

"It matters little to me about my Master's weakness in being bewitched. What matters is that I be granted my wish and my teammates' safety. So all that has happened in this Great Grail War does not become for naught." She sucked in her stomach and exhaled. "If it means becoming Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's calamity, then I will gladly become it. Provided Achilles and Mordred be allowed to join the Black Faction without harm, then I will swear my bow to you for however long your cause lasts."

Achilles stilled.

"Of course," Amakusa Shirou said, pleased. "I suppose this is all like a bunch of contracts with mercenaries, and conditions are mandatory."

Her ears still flattened. Relief soured. So that was why he stopped Semiramis from bringing out something even more dangerous. Couldn't have his Archer unable to shoot the enemy's transport.

"You're satisfied with that," Karna stated.

His eyes didn't accuse her at all, merely observing.

To say she loathed this was an understatement. They were family, leaps and bounds better than her blood one, the Argonauts, and Meleager. Simple as that. However, there was still a chance of a world where all children would be loved. Her dreams, her wishes, her reason...they were in reach. No matter how small, no matter how dangerous—Atalanta had resolved herself a long time ago to walk this path. This was all she had available to protect them right now.

But Atalanta was thankful Karna understood her pragmatism which was needed here.

"Yes." She nodded. "Amakusa Shirou Tokisada here understands Mordred and Achilles's temperaments."

"...how unbearably predictable. I tire of these charitable champions," Semiramis murmured in unmasked discontent.

"Say what you will, Assassin, but you understand it inside. You and your Master are proof of it." Karna ignored her hiss and continued, "As for me, I will accept you as my Master provided I be the one allowed to combat Saber of Black. Additionally, the former Red Masters are now third parties, which means they cannot be a part of this. That is a wish which can be granted should I stay here, and I ask of you the same as Atalanta requested."

It disturbed her how Amakusa Shirou seemed to have no qualms about his even flimsier loyalty, having smiled and nodded.

"You assume wrongly that we are not capable of taking on the dragon-slayer." Semiramis frowned. "And rather bold of you to assume my Master's compliance."

"Indeed, there might be some hastiness shown in this conclusion. However, I doubt Atalanta can defeat Siegfried in the open. I believe you have nothing to lose either way." He glanced at her. "I do not mean to downplay your skill, of course."

"It is fine."

"Then I promise to send him your way once he arrives on this fortress—"

"—hold it!" Achilles interrupted. "Karna, you can't stay here with Sis!"

"What about this troubles you? This is the most favorable outcome." Atalanta tilted her head. "We—"

"—no!" He protested, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to meet his pleading eyes. "He told me what happened after I passed out. We both made promises and his is still salvageable. But that doesn't mean I'm okay with the idea of breaking mine and apologizing later!"

"You are injured—"

 _"—We all are,"_ he whispered.

As if on cue, her traitorously bruised and battered sides flinched to underscore his words.

"So please, sis, allow me to watch your back. _I want to see you realize your beautiful dream with me by you."_

Warmth cradled her hope.

"This is not particularly undesirable, Atalanta," Karna added. "But if Achilles can take over for me, then I'd like to return to Mordred." A fierce flame lit in his sapphire irises.

 _I cannot argue with that,_ she realized. _I really cannot_.

Karna was incredibly adamant about this, from the inner desperation she sensed alone.

"How cute," Semiramis drawled.

Atalanta gathered her disarrayed thoughts into a cohesive, "That is acceptable," and instant regret overcame her stomach.

 _This is still fine._

Achilles slowly removed his hands from her shoulders and exhaled. His support was appreciated but this _really_ wasn't the time to put on a fractured front.

Amakusa Shirou chuckled and sprung a mood whiplash on them. "Very well, Archer and Rider. As we speak, Caster is guiding Shishigou Kairi here and I will sever the contracts shortly afterward. I take it Saber would want to have him back, so may luck be with he and Lancer."

Karna's eyes sharpened at the same time she and Achilles growled.

"You aren't giving the Master a command spell?!" Achilles stepped forward in palpable anger.

Semiramis arched an eyebrow and he warily went back after she raised an arm.

"But of course. As sporting as this opportunity is, I cannot in good conscience let only one condition decide the playing field. The Black Faction will have three, four—" his voice soured at the second number before smoothing it over. "—Servants at their disposal, should Jeanne d'Arc successfully gather them under her banner. Add in the Red Saber and Lancer, and well...that is an obvious conclusion."

Semiramis's not-so-subtle snort became full-out laughter. It swelled into a cruel contralto when Atalanta glared.

"Master, are you sure about the number?" She said.

Amakusa Shirou blinked.

"Ah...Chiron, Archer of Black." He nodded. "Assassin has access to many poisons, especially one he is familiar with. Well, make that two to three useful Black Servants."

The Black Servants—she had no qualms. Atalanta pounced on the thrown scrap with a rising fervor.

"Seeing as this is probably what you wanted, priest, Achilles and I shall take on the Black Servants and slay them. That will be the most we are willing to do." Atalanta stared at Achilles until he closed his mouth.

Karna's stare was harder to dispel.

Amakusa Shirou hummed and said, "I understand you do not want to fight Saber and Lancer, so I'm fine with it. Anyway, salvation shall be accomplished no matter what. Would you not want a world where all four of you can be together?"

"Not if you're the one in charge, or Assassin..." Achilles muttered darkly.

Karna sighed. "Amakusa Shirou, you would need Mordred to be here for a complete survey of our opinions."

Semiramis rolled her eyes. "Rather dreadful that she didn't show up." Conveniently ignoring the issue of her contract's state. "But I wouldn't mind training that scruffy thunder puppy of yours, seeing as she requires an updated course in obligations—"

"—Semiramis. She is not beholden to anyone." Karna said sternly.

"Do you mean to say then that she is not a part of the familial relationship you have created, which comes naturally? A family, sickening as it is, must have obligations to each other. If it is not, then that is a frigid alliance." Semiramis smirked. "Stew on that, Hero of Charity."

Amakusa Shirou sighed as he and Semiramis glared at each other.

Perhaps it was better that Achilles stood in for Karna. But Atalanta herself itched to tear off Semiramis's head for her disgraceful remarks about family.

—

Shakespeare hummed to himself and ignored the disgust from Atalanta and Achilles while strutting over to Amakusa Shirou and Semiramis.

A grizzled man dressed in black, rather like an outlaw, followed at an unsteady pace. Shishigou Kairi rubbed his head and grumbled to himself, hands twitching.

 _Assassin's poison._ Karna blinked but moved over to him, quelling Kairi's brimming questions with a look.

"Not here," he murmured, "but take solace in knowing I am an ally."

"...if you put it that way, then I can't argue—" he stopped at Semiramis's sneer at the both of them.

Karna narrowed her eyes and she turned away with an indulgent huff. Anticipation of being able to meet with Mordred soon was a consolation for Semiramis having the last word. So he banished her demeaning thoughts on Mordred as he shifted to his civilian clothes. The mana strain lessened but he desired all the droplets he could catch with his twitching palms. Given the situation, it wasn't unthinkable to not be fully recovered from Vasavi Shakti right now.

"Atalanta, Achilles—I'll see you soon." Karna glanced at their concerned expression.

"You'd better," Achilles said for him and Atalanta, patting his back.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Shakespeare whirled around to wink at him. "Please don't think ill of me for almost forgetting. [Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow]."

 _"Enough!"_ Atalanta and Achilles shouted.

Shakespeare peered at them, twirling his mustache. The faintest traces of sweat could be found trickling down by his temple.

Atalanta did not blink the whole time they exchanged looks.

"You'll have to pardon my rudeness, considering I had the impression the three of you wouldn't want to speak another word to an enemy," Karna said, more to Semiramis and Amakusa Shirou.

Semiramis scowled. "Then take your leave before it is time to treat you as such, though I am not averse to starting it now."

Amakusa Shirou smiled and the Servants couldn't help freezing in place as the command spells shimmered into existence, held aloft by his open palms.

"I, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, hereby release Heroic Spirits Mordred and Karna from our contract." A red flash and two feathers' outline faded. "Tho—"

He ignored the sobering loss of a steady source and picked up Kairi in his arms, ignoring the yelp, making a break for the drop into thin air.

Not a moment later did a wild and reckless mana beam swallow the spot he was just in.

High-speed winds swept his hair back while he plummeted for the second time in this endless night. Their descent did not so much resemble that of a gently swaying parachute as that of a launched missile. Kairi was clinging outside the cockpit of a fighter jet cruising at the speed of sound. If Karna made a mistake, then Kairi would become a part of soil through unpleasant methods.

"My trust in you just took a nosedive off the side of a flying fortress!"

He concentrated on landing, willing his legs to shrug off the burn from the sudden sprint. They went from subsonic speed to around a hundred-and-twenty miles per hour, drifting and absorbing the impact's shock. Dirt and vegetation conglomerated into a screen behind them.

When it wore off, Karna ran. His lungs burned. His muscles howled.

 _I have to rendezvous with the Black Faction now,_ he told himself, grimacing as his mana dipped lower and lower.

Kairi had other ideas.

"Wait! We can contract now—I'm assuming you _want_ to remain in this world, right?!" Kairi yelled in his ear.

"With what little mana you possess, it would be nothing," Karna said calmly. "I am the kind of Servant who would kill his Master in claiming victory."

Kairi held his face in spite of this situation. "...well...then do you mind telling me _what the hell is up with the Red Faction?!"_

"Shirou Kotomine is a Heroic Spirit who was incarnated in Fuyuki's Third Holy Grail War—" Karna focused on stringing words into a necklace of sentences. He feared stumbling and losing precious seconds if he did not.

"I get it now," Kairi said, sounding disappointed. "So that priest-servant-Ruler, or whatever, is in control of the Greater Grail, huh?"

"Are you thinking of your wish's possibility of materializing or something deeper?"

Kairi tensed in his hold. "Hey...Saber of Red isn't dead yet, right? Shit, if she is..."

Karna didn't comment on the subject's change. "If she cannot be killed by conventional means of aiming for the obvious vulnerabilities, then I suspect she is just fine." _I have faith in her._

He exhaled. "Good. I gotta make things right with her."

They lapsed into silence and he had no more distractions from the aching muscles.

However, the vegetation was decreasing in volume. Karna sighed as the surroundings became familiar.

Felled trees. Cracking mud. Odd assortments of flowers.

Karna honed in on Jeanne's signature when it flared into existence. Not a moment was to be wasted.

 _"Ruler_ — _you must command spell me to your side. But not a teleportation."_

 _"Eh?! Lancer, but_... _argh—_ understood! _Jeanne d'Arc compels Heroic Spirit Karna to hasten to my side!"_

Karna kept moving and submitted to the command spell coursing through his legs' nerves, renewing them in a scorching urge. Kairi's weight was unobtrusive. The burst of raw mana carried him back to the desolate lands outside of Yggdmillennia's fortress. But his body wheezed more and more for each mile that shrunk the distance. With a final gasp, he forced himself to dash for the last stretch and reunited with the ragtag group led by Jeanne d'Arc.

Kairi tumbled out of his arms with a startled yell and some curses thrown in. The unmistakable sound of vomiting followed. Stomach acid wafted.

Jeanne had rushed to catch Karna but he was already panting for relief on his knees. Though he had nothing but gratitude for her hands stopping him from face planting.

"It's a miracle—" he heard her say before his ears failed.

Karna kept panting. A fierce headache attacked him without mercy.

"—wanted from you, Archer, and Rider?" That came from Vlad.

He couldn't muster the strength to explain it right now. Shaking hands wiped the sweat from his forehead and he glanced up once he felt stable.

Shock shaped Mordred's noble face before snapping out of it.

" _Karna!"_ Her raw voice greeted him and he smiled before a wild tackle knocked him onto his back, ignoring Jeanne's yelp and retracting hands, but he didn't care about his bruising chest.

Despite the black sky and its infinite stars filling his field of vision, he believed it was daytime, with his sun clutching him desperately. Karna laid on his back, dazed, before throwing his arms around leather-clad sides.

"Mordred!" he gasped as she squeezed the life out of him. "I am so—"

"—shut up and let me hug you." Wetness spread along his collar.

Boots crunched near his head and he looked up to see Kairi scratching his head.

"...seems I owe you an apology, Saber." Kairi took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on. "[Instinct] really is what it says on the name."

"I'm still mad in case you think you're off the hook," Mordred mumbled from where her face was currently buried in his shoulder's crook. "But I want a few minutes."

"I don't think I'll be here after those minutes," he said hoarsely but didn't stop holding her.

This was enough for him.

"Stop. Doing. That. I can't handle your sass right now." Mordred burrowed in more and he hissed when her arms tightened too much. "...oops...my bad." They went slack.

"As you wish." Karna gave a bleary smile even though she couldn't see it.

"— _the both of you won't be here afterward!"_ Jeanne dragged her hands all over her face. "We need an additional Master for Lancer of Red—I can't contract with him if I'm running on mere fumes!"

Chiron gently rubbed her shoulders. "Caules or Gordes can act as a Master."

Karna sat up carefully to see Jeanne melt into the massage. Next to her, Vlad raised an eyebrow.

"I may be mistaken, but the younger Forvedge's command spells are depleted. Actually, for the both of them, if I recall it correctly," he said.

Before Chiron could react, she said, "I can give him the ones for Lancer of Red since my jurisdiction is no longer confined to neutrality. And it is imperative to gather what Servants we have when we return to the Hanging Gardens."

"Then it's settled," Vlad said. His amber eyes glinted under the darkness. "I will tell Darnic to call for everyone of importance out here. No sense in wasting any energy to tighten these given parameters."

He listened to the conversation with one ear, though there was no reason to feel anxious. Atalanta and Achilles were watching each others' backs so he was satisfied on that front. With Mordred in his quivering arms, he could finally sigh in relief. Everything was alright.


	15. reverie iv

_The salt is strong today, scattered among Zephyrus's shrieking minions. Cyan shades blur into deep azure across the cloudless sky._ The Argo _pushes against relentless waves. Laughter howls and cards scatter onto the wet deck. What follows is an unseen fight which quickly brings most of the sailors over to bet on who emerges bearing the least bruises._

 _It's endless, really. The emotions spun from homesickness, idleness, and lack of direction. Atalanta understands what it is when she stands on the rocking deck. She savors the concept like a treasure locked away in her heart, something only for her eyes. Something that belongs to her and independent of everything in her life._

 _Wanderlust is the voice in her head that keeps repeating, "we have to go somewhere; we have to move," and the crescendo renews whenever Jason orders them to go ashore. Her body shudders independently at the thought of being consumed by the wanderlust's maw._

 _What_ lies _beyond the horizon?_

 _Her eyes widen every time she sees the coasts melt into the ocean and Peleus says she looks overwrought every time._ Overwrought with wonder, _she tries to explain, but it's impossible._

 _How can you explain color to the blind? How can you explain sound to the deaf? How can you explain the bliss of being limitless to the crippled?_

 _It is a strange comfort, in how her love for children is the only thing that anchors her to this tiny, insignificant flotsam in the bathtub Poseidon splashes about. One day, she will save every child in the world from having to take up their sword and shield to dance with the Fates' strings. One day, she will die._ But it will be a good death, _she thinks._

 _Someone shifts behind her, soft footsteps drifting away from the chaos._

 _"Peleus," Atalanta greets when the man comes to join her side._

 _"Atalanta." He follows her gaze, caught in the horizon's net and doesn't say anything for a while, just letting his presence mingle with hers._

 _They watch dusk's dark inferno burn down the azure curtain to reupholster a black curtain and sew tiny white orbs into Nyx's gown._

 _Moonlight caresses her shoulder. This is Atalanta. The Argonaut. The hunter._

 _Her hands clench the wooden railing._ This is my choice, _she thinks._

"I cannot understand it. I really cannot."

Shakespeare's hemming and hawing made him almost reconsider confiding in him.

"They are resigned to their fates," Amakusa Shirou said, slightly louder to hear his voice over Shakespeare's. "Did I delude myself? I thought heroes would appreciate salvation—Archer is only going along as it being the bigger part of her wish."

"Allow me to clarify the matter for you, Master! [What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide]."

Amakusa Shirou tore his gaze away from the Greater Grail to focus fully on Shakespeare's beaming face as he struck a pose.

A silent beat passed and Shakespeare started sweating when Amakusa Shirou kept staring.

"...[The golden age is before us, not behind us]...?"

 _That is what they see?_ Amakusa Shirou narrowed his eyes but nodded in understanding. _Then they only look to the past. But that is the very thing which has given them so much grief and tears._

Shakespeare sighed in relief, uncoiling himself and clearing his throat.

"Master, you must listen. The older a Heroic Spirit, the more rigid they are in their beliefs. It is merely how they did such things, such quests, for such flimsy rewards. What good does it matter to fret about the terrible endings they'll meet? They have lived a fulfilling life, and that is all it matters to them.

"If you were to offer them salvation, what might that mean for their hard work? Who would they take up their swords against, should you _—_ " Shakespeare hastily fixed his words at Amakusa Shirou's stare. " _—when_ you achieve salvation?"

"But do they not deserve to reach out and taste the opportunity? To be released from the duties of a hero and live as themselves? You are right, Caster, but if they do not wish for salvation, then it is because they haven't felt the need, because they have never once experienced true freedom."

"Indeed. Our verdant Archer had been pulled along by a goddess's apathetic curse and every time she tried to grab her stars, she fell." Shakespeare pulled at his collar, looking back at the staircase, as if Atalanta would come charging down to wring him for that comment.

"From the start, the odds were against Saber, Archer, Lancer, and Rider," Amakusa Shirou said and he crossed his arms. _I will have to pray for their understanding._ "Thank you for your patience. But we should move on. By the way, do you know which Servant you want to unveil?"

Shakespeare bobbed his head furiously. "Three—but one is on our side...so may I ask for permission?"

"You really should not look so innocent and like a careless child, when you speak of high-risk matters like these." Amakusa Shirou sighed to himself. _It is cruel and unnecessary but I can't have anyone standing in my way. Perhaps when I return, he would be more agreeable. I suspect, salvation must be like a sweet summer breeze after hazarding the perils of a hard winter._

"Thank you for your kind understanding!"

If he failed here, salvation for humanity would not be achieved. His arms shuddered. Perhaps sensing it, Shakespeare became serious.

"Even so, you're still here, Master."

"Yes. After thinking and agonizing over the correct choice for sixty years, I chose to be here. Even if I feel fear, I have no regrets. Then Caster, let's begin the preparations. Firstly, have you gone over the books I had shipped?"

Shakespeare rubbed his beard as he responded, "Of course, I could hardly hold myself back from diving deeper! Like you said, I'm in agreement of Berserker, Lancer, Saber, and Caster. Though, I must ask, why not the Archer?"

Amakusa Shirou chose his words carefully. "The Archer had been a [Divine Spirit] and was summoned into a human vessel. To make matters uncertain, from the few encounters I had with her, it became apparent that she had been placed under a strange [Mad Enhancement]. Akin to the wrath of the woodlands, I might say."

"So there is no indication of Archer even being the same Servant you faced?"

"Of course."

"Hmph!" Shakespeare continued to moan complaints for the sake of it. "I should have liked to see how our own Archer would have reacted to her!"

He fell back on a practiced smile. A sweet lie to counteract the uncertainty brewing inside.

Semiramis had remained in the throne room, choosing solitude as she piloted the Hanging Gardens manually. But that hadn't stopped her calculating, watchful gaze on Shakespeare.

 _"Master,_ _are you really going ahead with this?"_

 _"Assassin, I'll be fine. I am merely drawing out the mana from before this Great Holy Grail War—and that is only the dangerous part."_

 _"...if you say so."_

Amakusa Shirou parted with some reassurance through their mental link as he strode to the base of the Greater Grail. The mana swirling about beat his heart into the pattern of thundering drums of war. Excitement almost made his vision shudder.

 _Salvation is close to my palms, with this step._

He was _so_ close. All of those sacrifices in the rebellion will not have been for naught.

" _—_ Before we begin, allow me to dole out some advice."

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

But afterward, Amakusa Shirou almost stiffened. Even then, it carried a threatening undertone _—_ blossoming flowers concealing a hornet in the bouquet.

Shakespeare's voice was thunder incarnate as he threw his arms out, above his head, like he was about to catch something.

"[O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, dove feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest _—a damned saint, an honorable villain!]"_


	16. Chapter 12

**A/N: Edit: formatting on ffnet is stupid.**

* * *

Not even a few minutes after dawn start nearing did someone have an...accident. Vlad hadn't an inkling for how to go about naming it.

" _...Caster?"_ Darnic's stiffness wasn't lost on everyone, especially when he uttered the title—he froze at the sight of Mordred working at her new job as Karna's blanket. Not intimidating in the slightest but she might as well have told him that he couldn't have the Greater Grail.

"What?" She said after Darnic didn't explain.

"Excuse my rudeness," he said after Vlad loomed from behind. "She...reminded me of one of the Servants from the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki."

Mordred slowly blinked and stared until Darnic looked away, still uncomfortable.

"Another coincidence." Jeanne covered her yawn through a whisper to Vlad, lips twitching into a concealed smile. "Does the Greater Grail believe this to be entertainment?"

He humored her though it was rather simple to do so; he found it to be surprisingly enjoyable. "Perhaps King Arthur has more in common with foreign Heroic Spirits in ways beyond youth and valor."

Mordred and Kairi grinned the whole time while re-contracting after Jeanne persuaded her to untangle herself from Karna. Afterward, he grumbled about how his mana shouldn't be this low with raised eyebrows but they remained standing near Karna and Caules. Chiron looked away when she explained why she only had one eye. Kairi howled in laughter after hearing it and she high-fived him. But now, they were staring each other down, like two predators squabbling over the best hunting grounds. The relaxed shoulders evaporated what little tension had seemingly formed.

"How much did those clothes cost?"

"...that's the first _real_ thing you're gonna say to me?"

Kairi cleared his throat in a dramatic manner then held up a finger. The two command spells stood out even in the darkness. "I'll definitely say that the leather jacket is a requirement but the rest? Easily over 1,500 leu in Romania."

"Don't tell me you would've gotten me something unbecoming of a knight, Master,"

"Hey! Would you prefer having a food budget or not at all? And you could've had the more expensive sleeping bag! It's decent food and bedding fit for a king. That's a bargain!"

"A bargain...you say? To hell with that—it's a _scam!_ To live in squalor is fine as long as I keep my royal dignity! I can't look like a king if I run around half-naked while killing people!"

"Then I guess we can start calling your kingdom Trashlandia!"

" _Mon Dieu,"_ Jeanne sighed, hastening the transferring process for Caules, when Mordred's voice spiked.

Vlad patted her shoulder twice in silent support. He had felt a migraine coming on while he observed these unorthodox proceedings and told himself it was only because there were few bonds like these to be found in his time. In addition, their relationship, from what he'd witnessed, was candid about their emotions.

Chiron and Fiore were more considerate in that regard, by speaking quietly, away from their main group. While he had nothing but concern for Chiron, it was pushed aside when he realized Darnic didn't take his eyes off Mordred, Kairi, and Karna. Silent and seemingly unobtrusive, he had stood at Vlad's side; even if he was brewing a new plot, it was far better than Gordes who knew his place. At the outskirts.

"Well, aren't you going to complain about Ruler's attire too?!"

"Didn't the Grail teach you about uniforms—hell, didn't maids and cooks wear similar clothing?"

 _Thank the Lord._ The contract crystallizing between Caules and Karna prevented further disagreements.

Though rather presumptuous, Karna's immediate allegiance might as well be beholden to the Black Faction—at least to Vlad, if he cared not for Darnic's excessive flattery. _Rulers do not be needlessly cruel to their subordinates for expressing their opinions, unless it is blatant treason or disrespect._ Vlad tried to ignore the fact that he let Karna finish talking. He came off as an honorable man, so he would respect the Master-Servant bond even more so. With that buffoon supplying the mana and Caules's disposition, it was all but certain.

But now they could get on with future plans. Reunions and greetings could wait. The Greater Grail could not. Exasperation ground his teeth to their pink buds.

"Yggdmillennia welcomes you into the fold." Darnic's frosty smile persisted even after Chiron and Jeanne rounded up the group together.

"So, we'll be working together directly? I don't mind but you'll have to be lenient on any reluctance from me or Saber, if you ask us to stick our necks out without any compensation." Kairi wiped his hand discreetly after he and Darnic shook on the agreement. "I'm still contracted with the Magus Association to be fair."

Mordred snickered without the slightest remorse, reminding him of a jackal.

"Lancer of Red—" Jeanne clapped twice, to attract everyone's attention. "—I don't want to phrase this in an insensitive way, but what are the statuses of Archer and Rider of Red?"

Vlad was uncomfortable at the way Mordred's eye flickered around searching, searching, all the while alarm justly settled inside her limbs. She would've appeared to be like a lost lamb had he not witnessed the way she acted in battle. Instead, she was a lion without her pride—save for Karna, he reminded himself, since he shifted closer to her, trying to reassure her.

"...Lancer, am I correct in saying Amakusa Shirou has a sacred wish to realize?" Jeanne asked, meeting Karna's gaze once he looked back up. "Anyway, it must be related to why Rider and Archer of Red didn't return. And Saber—I still have their command spells as proof of continued existences." She held up a hand complete with the red sigils as proof.

"Wow, that's really going to comfort me, knowing they're probably under an iron fist," Mordred replied and halfheartedly scowled at her. But some tension melted away.

"As additional Servants to protect his stake, I assume." Chiron's remark was met by a quick glare from Mordred.

"Ruler is correct for he wishes to force salvation onto humanity." Karna frowned at the stunned silence and crossed his arms, radiating annoyance for the first time. "...he _is_ a saint no matter how controversial his reputation might be today. Please do not forget his circumstances."

Vlad worked his jaw around but no words came to mind. Amakusa Shirou was a bigger fool than he thought initially in regard to how he handled the "traitorous" Red Servants. By nature, human beings were imperfect and it was exactly what made them human. To fight for freedom, to fight against hardships, to fight at all sculpted their foundations. Warfare was humanity's first choice, so to speak. Salvation, was to force evolution on an already-grown species.

"Salvation?" Mordred spat when no one wanted to take the lead. Through her teeth she continued, "Goddamn—seriously? You gotta be kidding me! But how the hell?!"

"Atalanta's wish," Karna reminded her with a soft glance, "is merely a part of his vision. Amakusa Shirou's methods may be unappealing but for her this is the surest path to realizing it. I don't blame her for wanting it." A slight frown formed. "Having said that, I can blame Amakusa Shirou for taking advantage of a noble cause and for that, he _will_ face my spear for it."

"I remember." She scowled at no one in particular. "Then Achilles stayed to watch out for her?"

"Amakusa Shirou presented unfavorable terms: either Achilles or I were to reunite with the opposing remnants. But I suspect Amakusa Shirou will devise something to lower the odds of an eventual rebellion."

"Can we count on them to pull their punches?" Jeanne asked.

"Perhaps for Achilles but—" Karna broke off. "You're worried, more than I'd thought."

"...no, it's just...last time I fought my family I killed them." Only the Servants gathered were able to witness Mordred's swallow. "I'm not particularly enthused about reenacting that part of my legend."

 _Then I suppose I am Gawain and Radu is Mordred._ However, Radu was rotten on the outside and inside; Mordred had a few redeeming qualities and justifications for the way she acted like a grouchy knight in rusting armor. That decided it for him.

"Then take comfort in the fact that those two will eventually turn, as Lancer of Red explained," he attempted.

"Suppose Amakusa Shirou uses his last command spells to make them kill themselves out of spite, _again_. What comfort would that be?!" Mordred groused.

"Lancer of Black is right. But you must believe in the odds," Chiron said.

"Ah, but what about Archer of Red?" Jeanne asked, rubbing her forehead, as if she had a headache.

"It is quite simple. She won't, because of the Black Archer," Karna said as if it explained everything.

Everyone stared.

It must have for him and Vlad resisted all urges to force him to recognize it. He might have appreciated the honesty he wore like a badge of honor but it required a certain kind of finesse which Karna didn't utilize at all when trying to lecture him on sensitive topics.

"She thinks I still have no qualms fighting Achilles then." Chiron sounded dubious and offended.

"I don't blame her," Mordred murmured.

Karna hesitated. "The aftermath of your Assassin's defeat led to a desire to protect us if it means destroying herself. On Amakusa Shirou's side, she would gain everything she desired, and morals are not exactly something that binds her. If it is any consolation, she would've wanted to eliminate you regardless of your decision to snipe Achilles last night."

"That's still seven Servants against five. However...our side may rise to eight. Sieg," Jeanne said firmly and gestured at him, though it pained to her to do so, "has something he'd like to negotiate about. I ask of you to hear him out."

Sieg didn't let any of the Magi's sudden stares sans Kairi halt him after preparing himself. "I don't want the rest of the homunculi to be consumed for mana. I want you to let us exist, no matter what the end result might be, even if we'll be dead in a few years."

Astolfo nodded, bold and vigorous.

"That's impossible," Darnic answered immediately, narrowing his eyes at Sieg's unfaltering defiance.

Vlad noted how he tried to keep his tone neutral, but the mental link between them betrayed the gushing river of frustration underneath a calm face.

"Why not?"

Strategically speaking, he favored the continuation of them as batteries. Politically—in public relations, he would be quite horrific in their eyes. His own personal relations didn't bother him when he contemplated the possibility in life and there was no reason to start now. As long as they worked efficiently, there was no reason to foster good relations. But, if he had to dole out his opinion, then voting present would be preferable.

"As Lancer of Red so courteously explained," Darnic couldn't keep the sour note out. While Karna barely reacted with a raised eyebrow, Mordred glowered until he nudged her, "we have seven Servants to provide the upkeep for. It is likely that the Masters will fight at some point or any obstacle will compromise the mana supply. This is a war," he added unkindly, "and I cannot afford to make decisions that'll impact the Black Faction's future if it can be avoided."

"The Black Faction, _huh?"_ Mordred scoffed. "Hey—you're forgetting that Ruler and I aren't using mana from your little factory. And, you're not _really_ in the best position to be saying that when you're just _one_ Master. I for one, support Sieg. With me, him, Rider, and Ruler—and Karna," she added after Karna brushed his knuckles against her side, "so that's more than half of the Servants' say here."

"Saber of Red," Darnic said coolly, "be as that may, this is an internal issue. You do not have to exert yourself to involve yourself in it."

"Well, I'm a homunculus," she said, scratching her cheek, "so wouldn't you say I have a reason to be speaking?"

Sieg glanced sharply at her and she didn't seem to notice.

"Archer," Vlad interrupted before Darnic could respond, "what are your thoughts?"

Chiron was silent for a few moments. "Lord Darnic, what is the current state in regard to our golem forces?"

"Caster must have destroyed them all, except for Lancer of Black's steed, for I couldn't find a single one roaming the halls."

"We can ask the homunculi for volunteers," Chiron answered after glancing at Fiore for her measured nod.

"If they do it out of their own will, then I don't mind." Sieg dipped his head in acceptance.

"If I may..." Fiore shrunk and colored when she became the center of several pairs of eyes ranging the spectrum but soldiered on, "Grandfather, I am in agreement with him due to his ability to transform into Siegfried and make use of his Armor of Fafnir freely. For the sake of victory. We should allow the homunculi to be free since we _will_ require his aid against Assassin of Red who I believe is...Semiramis?"

"The world's oldest poisoner," Karna confirmed and a thoughtful look washed away apathy. "I see. You believe the Armor of Fafnir can handle her poison without necessary sacrifices. And so, because I no longer possess Kavacha and Kundala, Sieg would be the primary option."

Jeanne grew still while wearing a strange look.

"Only A-Rank and above attacks can bypass it, but they are reduced to essentially minor scratches—starting over as E-Rank attacks." Fiore breathed a sigh of relief when Darnic didn't react with chilly anger.

"Then it'd take something like an EX-Rank attack to deal actual damage?" Mordred tilted her head. "Damn, that's useful."

"I see. None of us have defenses suitable against poison, and Archer would die meaninglessly." Jeanne groaned and her tone lacked enthusiasm. "I really cannot argue with it."

Darnic's smile seeped acid. "How unpleasant, this state of affairs that is, but these terms are reasonable, and I accept it." He sighed. "Just when the Black Faction seemed to have gained the upper hand."

Karna narrowed his eyes. Mordred snorted and Vlad recognized the first sign of the spearman's bluntness rising to meet Darnic's reluctance.

"This is not a matter of the 'Black' or 'Red' Faction anymore," Karna said, sharp as wind in wintertime. "It should be rather obvious to everyone that we are to follow Jeanne d'Arc or Amakusa Shirou Tokisada. What happens afterward is not something which requires being a priority now—you assume wrongly in regard to reclaiming the Greater Grail with little losses."

Darnic reacted exactly how Vlad predicated. It rankled him, he understood, to be chastised by a Servant. A familiar, a minion, a phantom; the dead should not have any influence on the living—must be what Darnic thought at this moment. It was quite rich when considering Darnic's propensity in consuming souls to keep himself alive. Through filtered glimpses Vlad witnessed the grisly process and the inevitable outcome. As for the initial assumption, his knuckles tightened at the implications and resolved himself to sort out this situation once this meeting was completed.

"You say you seek the Greater Grail for Yggdmillennia. For the family's prosperity, I imagine nothing else would matter. Certainly not a few homunculi or lesser Magi, but should you achieve the wish at the cost of sacrificing even the roots and seeds for it, then you have only yourself to blame."

"Harsh as those words may be, Lancer of Red, but this makes me wonder—Darnic, do you believe the odds are more dangerous than us Servants believe? Is Amakusa Shirou himself truly a greater threat than the Servants he acquired?" Vlad asked, in no hurry to disregard Darnic's experience from the Third Holy Grail War.

"I doubt it." Mordred was ignored.

"She's right, as much as I hate to say it," Astolfo piped up.

"Oi!"

"...my previous Servant was the last one standing in his way. I wasn't there as I was occupied with dueling a former Master but from what I remember, Lancer had almost killed him." Darnic touched his forehead and sweat glistened on the fingers when he lowered his hand. "Her True Name was Hua Mulan and one of her Noble Phantasms granted her a fame boost. If an atypical Heroic Spirit like Amakusa Shirou Tokisada can defeat Lancer, then you can understand my concerns."

"You informed me some time ago that he ordered the Fuyuki Lancer to commit suicide with a command spell," Jeanne stated. "Does that mean they were in a stalemate prior to his decision?"

Darnic nodded, unease forming by beads of sweat. "I'd place her to be on par with the upper levels of the gathered Heroic Spirits in this Grail War."

"He's just another body between us and the Greater Grail," Mordred simpered. "We were gonna kill him in the end."

He didn't look convinced.

"There are many factors for the upcoming battle that we cannot prepare for. But I'd pose the odds in our favor as seventy-to-thirty," Chiron remarked. "I think we have worried all we can about this particular area."

The rest of the discussion went off without a hitch and Vlad was thankful for the lack of obstruction, especially how Mordred provided a threatening edge against Darnic, with her mere presence. Astolfo redeemed himself with his Noble Phantasm—rather convenient, to think of it, and they would strike in a few days. The path of least casualties was chosen; Jeanne and Mordred refused to have any of the weak offenses Darnic proposed, and the other Servants agreed.

Afterward, Darnic left hastily with Gordes in tow. Had he been a lesser Magus, then Vlad suspected he would've been looking over his shoulder the whole way.

"That's nice, with how your face frightens even veterans while mine frightens children." Kairi watched the two Magi go, chuckling derisively. "We've still got something in common."

"Sure, sure, but I'm a little insulted. If I really wanted to kill him, then no amount of architecture is gonna save his ass from me," Mordred groaned.

"Cheer up Saber. It is merely how Darnic is." Vlad smirked, chuckling at the way she became wary of him by pursuing her lips and staring in overflowing suspicion.

"I think her face would scare anyone of any age..." Astolfo muttered petulantly.

Karna struggled to prevent Mordred from decking him in the face.

* * *

"You can have this room!" Astolfo chirped. "Since it's basically next to Sieg and I—"

"I don't want this room anymore," Mordred interrupted, crossing her arms as if to say "what are you going to do about it?"

Astolfo's grin shattered and _actually_ looked hurt. It took one glance from Chiron to cement his decision. After a little more hassling and dithering, Chiron strong-armed Mordred in accepting it when Kairi pointedly yawned in her direction. But Vlad suspected it had to do more with Karna stumbling during their quick tour. Gordes's mana circuits were of a far more superior quality; he hazarded a guess of it placing under Fiore and Sieg, but he had already reached his limit in what his body could handle.

Vlad got to finally talk with Jeanne alone after Chiron, Fiore, and Caules disappeared to the fortress's rooftops. Darnic prowled the hallways somewhere else, ostensibly annoyed with this turn of events. But Kairi had accepted his offer of lodging so there was no just cause to become irritated much to Vlad's growing irritation. Caules did glance at his Servant in uncertainty but Karna excused himself from following out of consideration for what must be family matters.

"I understand you wish to talk, but our contract is of lesser importance when you and your sister appear to be worried for each other," he had said simply.

No one acknowledged how Caules was uneasy around Mordred, glancing at her every other five seconds, wearing a slowly-cracking mask.

"Yeah...okay, I'll see you later then," he mumbled, jogging slightly to catch up with Fiore and Chiron.

"I guess we can rest now." Mordred rubbed her closed eye. "But I'm _bored_."

"You're not tired, Saber?" Kairi glanced down to see her conflicted face. "But unfortunately for you, I need a nap. And food when my stomach stops reeling," he added and Karna murmured an apology.

"I'm not about to crash and burn right now," Mordred said in such a way that made Kairi out to be an imbecile. "So I can't sleep."

"Oi. I'm not your parent—but being a Master is like a roommate, you hear me? But taking advice is something you do."

"Oh yeah. You're not my dad," she replied. "Well, roommates don't control each other, and we're paying equal rent right now!"

" _Well,_ how can I argue with that logic?" Kairi griped and threw up his hands.

"But Mordred," Karna said warmly, and Vlad suspected this was not the first time, while smiling at her and angling his head for the maximum effect. "I don't believe I'll be able to rest knowing you aren't near me."

Everyone was suddenly struck by the image of Karna being framed by flowers and sparkles.

"Huh~?" Astolfo looked to be torn up about teasing Karna or Mordred and questioning the two.

Mordred choked on the stale air. Then she started coughing into a hand, cheeks flaring red and mumbled, "Well...if you put it that way...and I _am_ your knight."

Vlad attempted to keep his poker face from sliding off from annoyance at her awkward phrasing. Behind them, Sieg was confusion incarnate and Astolfo's face ceased working. Kairi's chortle went unnoticed. Jeanne's embarrassment faded when Vlad sighed and went over to her; he had deemed this to be the correct time to address his concerns about what lied ahead.

"Lancer?" Jeanne tilted her head, frown tinged with concern.

They walked away from the group side-by-side after he nodded at her. Though she had to reassure Astolfo's expected panic with a quick smile.

"That promise you made before Lancer of Red returned to us," he said to her once they were alone, "was rather…"

"...terrible? Careless?" She suggested and there was something bitter and defeated in her eyes, like tainted amethysts, by gilding them. Jeanne sighed and stopped to rest her back against the wall. "I figured. But Saber is a valuable ally and it _was_ terrible; however, we aren't in a position where I can let any Servant waltz off on their own." In spite of that, she held firm.

Vlad liked her. He really did, for seeing the bigger picture.

"Of course," he said. "About the Greater Grail—I must ask, do you believe the wish-granting aspect would remain unchanged? I've theorized about the possibility of Amakusa Shirou altering it to suit the methods he'll try to use."

"For the most part, that's correct." Her hands intertwining betrayed any attempt at keeping a stoic front, casting doubt on her next words. "...however, after victory, I'm not confident in the possibility of having any wishes become realized. I've no idea if there would be any leftover mana to successfully realize a single wish, and to fix that, well, the conclusion is obvious."

"You are referring to the bonds between this gathering of Heroic Spirits?" He ignored the instinctual disappointment for now. He doubted that any of the remaining Servants would let him realize his wish after killing one of their friends, anyway.

She counted on one hand while listing the names. "Achilles, Atalanta, Mordred, and Karna. Sieg and Astolfo. Even Chiron and Achilles have no reason to fight each other—and it is not a matter of 'when'," Jeanne said. "Though...it may sound bold, but I believe you and Chiron can count."

"No, no, that is quite fine. I don't mind his sense of humor and his company is far from grating, if that is what you mean."

"I'm glad to hear that, to be honest." Jeanne's smile was full of relief. "Though I have committed myself to keeping the Great Holy Grail War in order, I find it unappealing at times. Why did the founding families drag in us Heroic Spirits into this conflict? Was fighting against each other not enough?"

"It seems at this point that only both Archers and I seek the Greater Grail if Amakusa Shirou dies without any further trouble. There is also Fiore and Darnic to consider—but rude as it is, the Servants have the higher priority by reaching it first." Vlad had a sudden urge to inquire whether not she had a wish—but she never would've been allowed to take the Ruler-Class upon forming. He needed to remember it.

"That's true. Well, it's selfish to say—er...I actually find comfort in being alive again and witnessing humanity's efforts to grow and change. That's why I can't understand why Amakusa Shirou would want to give salvation. Being alive means to persevere, it's about overcoming the trials, physical or mental. If humanity is to gain salvation, then they _must_ do it on their terms, so it can truly be called 'salvation'."

Vlad let her words sink in, finding no fault with them, before moving back to the original topic. "By the way, would you be opposed to the idea of having a Servant-only meeting some time soon?"

"No, not really." Jeanne paused. "And, Lancer, um, I hope I'm not about to sound like a country bumpkin, but about Legend of Dracula...it's weak to holy sacraments, correct? I've thought about it recently, ever since Darnic seemed rather...shifty, to me."

Vlad tried not to show his distaste while he nodded.

Jeanne exhaled. "I wouldn't be too surprised if Amakusa Shirou is well-versed in baptism rites. Darnic knows this. _Should_ know it, to be fair, since he said he did see him in combat at least once."

"Using it when all resources have been exhausted is another matter." A little relief still made its way into his tone, for thanking her. As long as Legend of Dracula's odds of being used kept going down, then he had nothing to worry about.

Jeanne's snort morphed into a yawn. "Speaking of which, I should get some rest. I'll see you in a few hours."

"...that 'few hours' should stretch into the late afternoon."

"Yes, yes." Jeanne covered a bigger yawn that threatened to drag her into the land of sleep. Waving her other hand, she started walking to her own room. "Good ni—morning, Vlad."

He smiled. "Good morning, Jeanne."

* * *

"How could I have lived with myself if I couldn't stay and watch your back?" Achilles hugged his sides out of an instinct to do something with his limbs. Settling in for the long road, he leaned back. The railing supported and dug into his back at the same time in a cold half-hug, aided by a steady breeze and complete shade. "That goes against my ideals—of heroism."

It was like that due to him finally getting around to trying out the clothes from Sighisoara. These jeans were all right but not the shirt. Sure, it had long sleeves but made of a strange cottony fabric—basically paper-thin. Though it wasn't the cold temperature at a high altitude that bothered him, considering Servants were unaffected by weather. And he suspected it was the tightness of it, in comparison to flowing chitons and short-sleeved tunics in Achaea. That cheapskate Mordred got herself those sturdy boots and a flashy jacket. (He refused to feed the idea of her being petty over the spar—if she was still mad, then she would've tried to make him suffer until he apologized or whatever).

At the same time, a pang of regret passed through his entire body, reprimanding him for even thinking about it. Fingers snuggled against his side when he entertained possibilities of what might be running through her mind. Shit, he really hated this. Obviously it was out of everyone's hands and Achilles wanted to hit himself anyway. Karna being with Mordred couldn't be a silver living because all four of them _should_ be together. But she was strong. She would pull through.

As for Atalanta, she followed suit with a sleeveless blouse and a skirt; Achilles still had his suspicions about quality materials but they needed to talk about last night. She was going to crash and burn without him _—anyone_ to help her stay aloft.

Atalanta didn't show how much she felt the stinging impact from being batted around, in a reversal of positions, with Semiramis the cat and she the ball of yarn. Achilles knew this and supported her silently as they made their way to a secluded balcony overlooking the distant ground.

He could ignore his still-healing ribs and she could not. Thanks to a less-forgiving Endurance. She leaned into his side the whole time.

Through the dark halls lit by a meager amount of flickering candles, he half-expected Semiramis to make another appearance to spread an aura of terror before disappearing again. Monarchs could honestly make a living off overflowing with pretenses instead of saying what they want outright.

Karna might've called it unwise but they needed to regain their mana quickly even if Amakusa Shirou explained how he supported them by connecting to the Greater Grail's reserves. The less they had to rely on him for anything, the better. And they were already in the palm of Semiramis's false magnanimity.

"You make it sound as if you are only here because of heroic desires," Atalanta stated, though her eyes didn't accuse him, remaining calm pools of verdant green.

He was thankful she understood him without needing him to elaborate even if they already reached this point in their bond a while ago.

She perched with crossed legs where the railing met the wall, angling herself to watch him. Unobstructed wind blew her hair back in gentle waves.

"Well...there's that." He threw back his head to stare at the bronze ceiling where dust and rust made their home. "Kind of my own desires as well. I wasn't lying at all."

"I know."

"You said you were all right with descending into hell for the sake of your wish—I can admire that, I really can...but you know, that wouldn't sit right with Karna or Mordred." He exhaled. "At all."

"I know."

"I don't want to cheapen your wish but you've got us."

"I know."

"Sis, would, would you...pick your wish over us?"

She hesitated.

Achilles stared at the floor.

 _She hesitated._

It was probably fashioned from bronze or steel and bore the scars of time like the ceiling. He was aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the prickling stare, the oppressive silence, and wished he hadn't opened his mouth while waiting.

"I don't want to discuss that," Atalanta said finally. "But I will be _fine._ So stop worrying about it. All is far from lost. This is the best we can do so we must carry on."

 _Whatever comes first._

His throat grew thick and swollen while his eyes watered. Achilles couldn't look up as his stomach churned in distress and the urge to twitch formed in hollowing hands. After a moment without his consent, he looked up to see Atalanta watching the pinkening horizon diligently. Summer pushed winter away from her eyes, hot with vivid green.

Obviously, desires drove people to become stronger and work hard. For Atalanta, it was her core. He hadn't the faintest idea of whether it was a desire or obsession for her. It seemed to swing from either one, especially in the company of those she was comfortable with.

Sweat snuggled into the nape of his neck.

Nothing about her body language suggested she was dealing with inner turmoil. Easy breathing, relaxed posture, and unclasped hands counteracted his own body.

He sank his teeth into the inside of his mouth. His tongue was wet with a little blood and he felt dehydrated; his lips seemed to have become sewn together. Achilles swallowed. The steel railing against the small of his back felt like a dagger between the ribs.

"Okay," he whispered and it was one of the hardest things he had to do throughout the Great Holy Grail War. His voice didn't waver and he hated himself for it.

The way she said _thank you_ punched him in the gut. And it was already like a bloated balloon so he sucked in his gut to stop himself from erupting. It felt like he was running around in a labyrinth of careless questions and delicate answers, stopping him from smashing through a wall to exit _already._ Running until his legs failed, until he couldn't breathe anymore.

If he pressed, would he become Hippomenes? Her arrows would turn on him and he would deserve it even though there were no golden apples to be placed at her feet. If he forced her to stop her pursuit of this wish, would he become the very gods he abhorred? Most of her decisions had been orchestrated by the Fates and Achilles couldn't bear to do it.

They talked about mundane things after Achilles stopped tearing up inside. He even laughed at a hilarious anecdote she told about Peleus and Heracles wrestling, left with an ambiguous ending because Atalanta couldn't bring herself to finish; laughter spilled from her mouth and it was beautiful _._ He would rather hear that than listen about his father getting the absolute shit beaten out of him. It made him feel slightly better about her refusal to open up completely. Anything was better than seeing her distant gaze.

There must be some law etched into the cosmos preventing Achilles from having nice things for more than an hour because Apollo still hated him.

Mana popped like a swollen balloon. It was the exact same situation from when Siegfried possessed that homunculus. Achilles flinched when another formed and wrestled for control of throbbing instincts after two more distortions followed.

He moved away from the railing first. They hadn't exchanged a word as they fell into a sprint side-by-side after forming their battle attires again.

The dark halls hadn't seemed so oppressive until now with endless darkness in front and behind. Endless corridors led to frustrating dead ends and a slower descent to the belly of this mechanical beast, where the Greater Grail slumbered on.

Semiramis hadn't made a single appearance. Nor had Shakespeare. Achilles considered himself lucky until they bounded down the stairs and picked out them from the group gathered at the base of the _Greater Grail._ It was instinctual, he told himself, on how he slowed down unconsciously. Also, Amakusa Shirou's face-up, open palms holdint command spells aloft was a tell-tale sign.

The same went for Atalanta. She inhaled and the Greater Grail had never seemed so malignant in how its mere existence preyed on her hopes and dreams; it suffocated her world.

"Ah—Rider and Archer. This makes things much simpler if we're all here," Amakusa Shirou said in a humming lilt, angling his head to maximize his innocence, as if he hadn't just pulled these Servants out of his ass just now. "Rest assured, they are not enemies."

He didn't know which of the new Servants coughed and he didn't care to find out.

"I can't believe him, this, or any— _goddamn,"_ the only male Servant, blond and boorish, muttered and the tall, dark, and scarred woman next to him shrugged.

"I can." Her tone was completely uncaring in spite of the slight glower going on.

"I hate this."

"He's a little shit. You know this. Chin up."

"I _hate_ this," he repeated and turned away.

Amakusa Shirou pretended not to notice their exchange.

Atalanta's exhale was harsh in the loud silence.

Achilles scowled at his easy demeanor. Then the stark realization that Shakespeare hadn't made any commentary at all with his wordy self-quoting surprised him like waking up through a bucket of ice-cold water. Sure, Shakespeare and Semiramis smirked like the damn villains they were, so they were still "normal." Both flanked Amakusa Shirou, smug and secure and Achilles absolutely had no qualms fighting them here and now.

Sighing, his gaze swiveled back to the new Servants, registering their presences before their appearances.

Three women and a man. Amakusa Shirou still flashing his command spells must've deterred them from acting on whatever they wanted, but for some reason, the blonde woman split from the other three and Achilles had a sharp realization jab into his brain from the hair alone, even if her face was partially obscured by a veil. It snagged his instincts and clouded his suspicion.

It was the way the woman carried herself. Haughty and self-assured—that confidence was like Mordred's swagger, but more elegant. But the malicious aura this Servant radiated vaporized all theories on the spot.

"What is the meaning of this?" Atalanta asked, shaking herself from the shock first.

He smiled and gestured at the Mordred-lookalike. "I suppose this is to be expected, considering they _are_ related. This is Caster Morgan le Fay." Amakusa Shirou met her devilish smirk with a chilly smile.

Achilles could only splutter.

"...Morgan?" Atalanta repeated, pupils dilating.

It was like looking at a matured Mordred, from her skimpy gown alone, even if her face was covered by a black veil. He tried not to think about how that probably explained why Mordred had only those rags under the armor. The one similarity between mother and son. But it drew their attention to her chest.

Atalanta took a step back, confusion outweighing anger, while he homed in on the red sigil—it could've been a dangerous spell for all he knew. He growled and almost strode forward once he got over the surprise. Ambivalence shifted to white-hot rage. This woman was the cause of Mordred's troubles; the instinct to skewer her where she stood drove his nerves into begging for relief.

Where Mordred's hair reminded him of tarnished gold, hers was sickly and pale yellow cascading down her back. A wilting, poisoned daffodil—or fool's gold.

Morgan chuckled and instead of sneering at them, she directed it at the new, male Servant.

Atalanta sensed his fluctuating mood and didn't look away as she threw out an arm to stop him. Ears flattened against her head. _I get it,_ he thought and held himself together with flimsy threads.

Amakusa Shirou continued to smile while introducing the new Servants, considerably less chilly after taking his eyes off Morgan.

"Saber Ilya Muromets."

He had a broad nose, close-cropped dark blond hair, and a trimmed beard which were unremarkable. But his build and height succeeded Spartacus in this gathering in terms of the tallest Servant. Unlike Spartacus, Ilya had the air of a valiant hero but his previously gentle face was contorted into a scowl. Steel blue irises glared in response to Morgan's sneer. Chainmail _clinked-clanged_ as he crossed strong arms. A circular shield and a steel sword radiating mana clung to his back.

"Berserker Sanna."

Atalanta inhaled sharply and he almost did the same.

Everything: furred clothing more suited for the arctic, short black braid, small stature, and bandaged hands were dwarfed by her [Divinity]. It had to be at leastA+. Such a strong aura made his heel tingle and quiver in anticipation, if only because of Andreias Amarantos _._ He itched for a fight and throw caution to the wind but keeping that Noble Phantasm in effect was to be prioritized.

The sullen face failed to undermine it. Sanna wrung out her hands as she stared at Amakusa Shirou in bitter disbelief.

"Lancer Hua Mulan."

Unlike Ilya, her aura was more like that of a soldier's valor, cold and blunt. Little scars were scattered across wherever her skin was uncovered. Shy of six feet, she was a striking woman clad in leather armor and clothes spun from black and gold—removing a red-plumed helmet revealed dull black hair in a low ponytail. Her dark eyes studied them all in an apathetic stare, but when it fell back to Amakusa Shirou, interest was roused.

"So, what, are they supposed to be additional allies?" Achilles asked, actually affronted by the mere existence of such an assumption. He might've been drafted by Amakusa Shirou but like hell that gave him a just cause to cast doubt on his battle prowess. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, 'don't trust Servants like Achilles and Atalanta' is a given but I really didn't take you to be a petty person. But you're not a liar either."

Amakusa Shirou's answer and confirmation was a superficial smile.

"Would it not be better if I can decrease the odds of you fighting against Saber and Lancer of Red by summoning more Servants to my side? Would you not appreciate it?"

"I will appreciate it only if I can stand by their side against additional Heroic Spirits," Atalanta said before Achilles could retort.

Amakusa Shirou's laughter was light and short. "If we are to count Siegfried as among the existing ones, then they wouldn't be additional, as they are merely filling in the missing ranks."

* * *

 **A/N: I don't know if you guys follow the A03 version but I've been talking with people and they suggested another AU with Karna as a Ruler. So I guess that's happening after this is done.**


	17. Chapter 13

**A/N: I see all those people removing themselves from the follow list after I brought in original Servants and I was literally laughing _so_ hard at that because I can't blame them for it but wow, it's not like they're going to derail the plot like Sieg.**

* * *

She sunk against the chair, becoming a human puddle after she finished talking.

At least Mordred's hands stopped shaking and settled into a fleshy-pink. But that wasn't really great when it irritated her beyond belief in keeping her injured eye closed all the time. While she couldn't see anything from her chair, being a Servant granted her a widespread awareness of the thundering footsteps. God, Karna really was out of it if that didn't stir him in the slightest. Although he more than earned the right to pass out all over the only bed. Especially after pulling out Vasavi Shakti. If he hadn't been immediately nerfed—Mordred liked this terminology—afterward, then she would've accepted his strength to protect himself.

But he was an adult. Adults never faltered. Mordred had only Morgan until now as a guiding stick—she had been so sure of herself. Children were allowed to make mistakes, right? She hadn't figured out if that was the case or not; it did seem likely, when considering Achilles's reaction to her fight with Frankenstein. Just concern. No scolding except for how she kept moving during his ministrations...fixing wounds with soft words and hands instead of icky magic.

But Karna didn't and now his armor was gone. It didn't seem like adults were given leeway for any mistakes. His C-Rank Endurance worried her. Far more than it should've. For Atalanta, as an Archer, it was expected but Karna was a world-famous hero. If she talked to him about it, he wouldn't let her try to take any hits for him. Should she leave it alone?

Kairi pulled her out of that messy issue.

"...looks like they've got their hands full with ensuring Sieg gets his requests fulfilled. They've gotten every healthy homunculi running themselves ragged to transport resources, and that guy with the beer belly too," Kairi added after seeing Mordred's face scrunch up from confusion.

She should leave it alone for now. All this drama tired her out in ways beyond physical exhaustion and she hated it. Mordred assumed it was because she hadn't much tolerance or experience with it. Relaxation came first at this point.

With another quick look, Kairi closed the door in a careful manner as not to seem out of place. Then he leaned against the door while she tugged her hair tie off, scowling when she found resistance in a tangle. It took less than a minute to work through the tangles after putting both hands on the job.

"Man..." Mordred sighed in pure relief as her hair fell to her shoulders in waves, releasing the pressure that had been knotting at the back of her head. "What a relief!"

Few things could beat kicking off your shoes and winding down after a long day. She slumped against the chair, stretching out her legs to the floor while her arms went above her head. Her knuckles popped one by one and muscles uncoiled. She'd worked them hard; trying to strangle enemies tended to do that.

Then she realized Kairi had ignored her explanation and had chosen to check the hallway in the meantime.

"Don't want to say anything about my explanation?" Mordred frowned. She thought she hadn't left anything out, especially concerning the situation with the Red Servants she actually liked, even if any explicit details were left untold.

"It's called processing. But first things first: you don't want the Greater Grail anymore?"

"Yup." She didn't feel all that torn-up about it which was good in her book. She wasn't chained to anything but her new family; nothing else could coerce her into doing something she didn't want to. "Won't be having any more dreams about Caliburn and it'd better stay that way."

"...I see." He sounded thoughtful but you never knew anything for certain with these Magi despite Kairi being an exception. "Though I'd think I'd like to have seen what your reign would've been like."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm still a king in some form or another...but my kingdom isn't Camelot. Not anymore. Huh...maybe I can be the wandering king and set a new standard!"

Kairi gave a noncommittal grunt. They fell into a comfortable silence afterward, thinking about their next words.

When she'd been alive, she'd never experienced such a silence with anyone else. There was no one who had let their guard down with her, and there was no one she had let her guard down with. She had thought that was what life, what a knight and what the being known as Mordred was. Karna, Atalanta, and Achilles changed that mindset by being the friends and family she could count on.

When she and Achilles talked about wrestling moves, it was kinda like a worthless topic, even though it was fun, so fun that it made her think it would be even more fun if they had alcohol too.

It was meaningless conversation. But conversation shared between two friends.

Why hadn't she been able to talk like with anyone during her life? It was obvious, she thought in annoyance; it was because her father hadn't. As the one who would've succeeded her father, she couldn't do anything that her father didn't. But the things that her father hadn't done were so fun. Did her father never converse with others because it was fun? Or because her father didn't find it fun? Or did her father merely think it was unnecessary? It might be all of those reasons. Her father always looked too far ahead. Her father had freely devoted all efforts to build a peaceful country; even when the knights let ten villages burn to save a hundred. Those dawdling knights didn't get it, not even Gawain, that stupid honor student.

The king was isolated, the king was alone—that was a natural, unmistakable fact. But…maybe it would have been better to talk to each other.

Sometime after Jack the Ripper got knocked out of the War, Atalanta had been in a terrible mood, so Mordred brought her a bowl of fresh fruit with slices of steak; it went under a one-eighty but the apples went untouched. To be sure, she did it again after Achilles tried to play dirty in another foot race and the same result followed. It was a trivial detail, but she had once again learned something new about Atalanta. Just by spending a few days together, she had learned a ton of facts about someone else _—three people_ nonetheless. How much would she have learned about others if she talked with the knights during her life?

Well, for Arthur's kingship, it was like that. Never stopped to smell the roses as some idealists say. But there were always worth to be found in just living; she got that chance with the team. Father hadn't. Father devoted himself to being Britain's dragon—a dragon who never, never, never made use of the golden hoard it protected fiercely.

Kingship or not, she was different now. She wasn't going to surround herself with close-minded warriors.

All the same, Mordred was dissatisfied about it for some godforsaken reason. When Kairi talked about her resting, she automatically talked about him not being her dad—not her lord and controller, no-one that could control her. _I wasn't ready, or never will be,_ Mordred thought bitterly.

Kairi broke the silence after that train of thought hit a brick wall.

"You know...I half-expected you to try and fight me." He scratched his head. "Or dole out whatever punishment you'd prefer."

"You apologized to me first. No one _does that._ Not unless they're trying to butter up someone. But...it was nice, I guess. So thanks...a lot."

"Considering everything that led up to us being Master and Servant again, against the odds, it'd be pretty mean and rude of me to act like the typical Magus you must be familiar with. And I wouldn't want to show any weakness in front of the Black Masters. No telling what they might do."

She ignored the last part but silently agreed, still hating how that glasses-wearing kid was Karna's Master. "Not that you _are_ one."

"I could say the same for you—er, about the new…knight slash king thing you've got going on. While I haven't cultivated any in a long time, I can still recognize them. Familial relationships, that is."

"...what about it?"

"No need to get so defensive."

Mordred sighed and supported her chin with a hand; she didn't feel like explaining about that part. "Hey, you never told me what you want from the Greater Grail. And don't try to dance—"

"—I know. You deserve an honest answer. You cared enough to try and get me out of there."

At this rate, Mordred might as well be counting more pleasant incidents than troublesome ones.

"You might as well had been one of the innocents," Mordred said slowly, "and a Servant-less Master isn't really a participant in my eyes."

"Thank you."

She became silent, unsure about what to say in response. It was delivered with no ire or sarcasm, just genuine gratitude.

He took that as his cue to regale her of the Shishigou family's tale. A family of Magi that had migrated from Europe to Japan, but at that point, each generation was born with fewer and fewer Magic Circuits. They could barely even be called Magi, practically ashes drifting through the wind. But they still had the chance to do something – anything – before it was too late. They still had the strength to employ and rely upon the miracle called Thaumaturgy. Taking something from one to ten should be simple, whereas it was difficult to build something up from zero to one.

The contract they made with a devil was a curse; the family had given up their future in exchange for prioritizing the fullness of the present. Whatever the case, the sacrifice was Kairi. It was the greatest of evils that could befall a family of Magi—infertility. It was destined that the line of Shishigou, along with all their precious Magic Circuits, would end with him. But even if they had lost their original Magic Circuits along the way, the tenacity of Magi was not. After the chosen heir's autopsy, the cause was found to be Kairi's Crest as it seeped a deadly toxin which he himself had completely adapted to. Any attempts to transfer the Crest would cause the toxin to react.

Once he learned of this, Kairi prevented his father Touki from proceeding with further transplant attempts, making him give up on the idea completely. He had decided that the Shishigou line would end with him. Then he left his family, becoming a lowly bounty hunter, an outsider living off his Thaumaturgy.

He took a whiff of his third smoke with that concluding statement.

Having gone through a few smokes throughout, this was the deepest drag he took after finishing. "It might have been only a brief hundred years or so, but the Shishigou family had had their taste of glory. What more could they ask for? Better to have done it at all than not."

Mordred understood the bitterness. But she was stuck on the ''adopted heir'' portion. It sounded similar to her situation in life; however, that girl had Kairi to love her.

"Still meant jack shit in my eyes. I couldn't forgive my relatives for doing the experiment on her." Kairi suddenly laughed, pained. "You, you know I was going to adopt her after the Crest transfer—and the _entire_ reason for adopting her didn't even matter to me after I grew close. It was just a bonus."

She asked, "How did you get yourself into this mess?" because she didn't want to linger any longer on it.

Kairi took off his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Mordred waited for a few minutes to hear his answer.

"...the real reason why I joined the Great Holy Grail War, aside from the slim chance at getting her back, was out of an instinctual desire. I knew this was going to be the final battle—that would finally kill me." He looked away as if ashamed. Or a confession that had stuck to him like phlegm in sickened lungs. "Spent a lot of time wandering other battlefields before in vain."

"That's heavy," she found herself saying and grimaced. "I don't really get it—why these damn Magi decided on dragging in uninvolved kids into the messy businesses of birthright and succession crises."

"Speaking from experience?" His question was purely that of curiosity, so she nodded. "Cold-blooded and an instinct to smash the unknown into pieces—there's your explanation."

Mordred didn't care too much for the explanation. Except for Kairi, she admitted grudgingly, Magi could burn in hell for all she cared. Just for the sake of prosperity—what a load of shit. "One day, it'll bite them on the asses, so at least there's that."

"While we're on the subject of bad luck, wishes, and families…" Kairi continued when Mordred didn't show any annoyance, "you want to stay with Lancer, Archer, and Rider of Red, right? Would you ask the Greater Grail to give you guys human incarnation?"

Mordred had thought about that before they went off to fight the Black Servants a lot.

"I've considered it," she said, "but haven't really talked to the others about it. Mostly because I wasn't sure what they'd think of it. The guys would be fine but it's Atalanta I'm concerned about. She's the only one whose wish is... _important_. Not sure how to get it across, actually."

"We'll cross that road when we get to it." He sounded reassuring and...that was nice, he still supported her.

"And are you still going to wish for your daughter back?" Mordred asked.

"...if it's not inconvenient. I'm fine with dying but I'd prefer to go out fighting instead of being skewered and left for the crows," he explained.

"Lancer of Black will have to go through me first. I wouldn't mind fighting him." Mordred grinned at Kairi's apprehension as he got off the wall. She could understand if he didn't want to move on.

"Is that so? Anyway, I'm going back to Sighisoara for gathering up my equipment. The important stuff, anyway. Gotta keep some there just in case the situation becomes haywire," Kairi explained, kneeling to check his shoelaces and straightened up afterward. "I'll be gone for the day, so expect my return to be during the night, or the next morning."

"...oi."

"Yeah?"

"Don't get captured again. There are only so many times I can stand to play the role of a knight in shining armor."

"Hey! That'll be only one time, thank you very much! You can trust me this time. And your armor, and heart, _is_ silver, so you're perfect the way you are." He tapped his chest, where his heart laid. "The symbolism of gold doesn't ring a bell with me. Only the tangible feeling of yellow metal resonates in my hand preferably."

Mordred laughed long and loud.

"Whatever you say, Master. But clichés are bad."

* * *

The Greater Grail was behind him.

Achilles and Atalanta stood in front of him, backs to the stairs.

Semiramis and Shakespeare waited at his side.

Sanna stayed out of arm's reach, but all the same, stood at his side too. (He half-expected her to be with Ilya and Hua. But she did not, which was why he gave a genuine smile to her shaky nod).

Hua and Ilya took up the duty of sentinels, on the sidelines, arms crossed and waiting for the verdict.

All of these were truths. He had sixty, long and lonely, years to find peace with the ending of the Third Holy Grail War and he still never wanted to fight— _to kill_ , he thought savagely—someone as much as he did when he saw her. Vengeful will-o-wisps flickered inside him. They must be like the very flames of war that swallowed his rebellion whole. His body was feather-light as if it had been charred down to the bones.

Bones cannot do anything to the living.

Morgan le Fay stared at Ilya while in the center; the two were engaged in a silent stare down fraught with tension. The way Mordred was animated, rife with unchecked emotions made for a clear difference between mother and child.

His eyes burned and throbbed but he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Perhaps she didn't know for certain about the result. Perhaps the curse's effects were supposed to be random and he was— _cursed_ —just unlucky. But the memory itself was like a well-cared-for painting today, even if it hurt to recall Justegarde's white hair outlined by fresh blood in snow. She was another body to add to the pile of victims pushing him forward and yet he could not move on from her death—not if the one who cursed her was present.

He was close to stiffening when he sensed Hua's unflappable gaze on him and he refused to give her the satisfaction of acknowledgment. And trying to greet her instead would be running away. Amakusa Shirou would willingly be many things but a coward was never one.

Achilles and Atalanta must have been stunned from a lack of other explanations, aside from wariness and to wait out the next move, for why they didn't join the conversations between the Servants of the Third Holy Grail War's reunion. It didn't matter too much to Amakusa Shirou since they were bound to investigate them, to pick out the ones who would possibly betray him but they would find that a trial in itself.

Sanna was still his ally. Though Ilya and Hua were like gum, he already took countermeasures for the former. He didn't want to consider Morgan any more than necessary.

"Are you angry?" He asked Sanna, finding it best to start with her as a neutral option.

She twitched and slowly met his gaze. Anger thawed and despondency froze into place. But she didn't fidget with her bandaged fingers.

"...no. No, I'm...not," she answered and looked away from him, seemingly tired from talking already. Her heavy breathing wasn't any deeper as she continued, "...can't accuse you."

"But you are a little bitter?"

Sanna nodded. It was small and jerky.

He let the command spells disappear and kept his palms up and open but offered them for Sanna; she blinked and unconcealed wariness transformed into bitter melancholy. The both of them didn't break eye-contact as Sanna grabbed his offerings by the wrists. Something in the frigid blues of her eyes melted, lifting the ice age and leaked from the corners.

"...that's how mac Cumhail met his end. Deserved it too, flirting more than a dozen harlots in a fortnight," Ilya whispered to Hua, hand over mouth.

"For _shame_ —would've liked to break him in half instead," she lamented and he chortled.

"Care to explain the joke?" Achilles asked, sauntering over to them, Atalanta shadowing him.

"Fucker called me a cross-dresser so I only got to break his face." Hua's face hadn't changed from its straight-laced expression at all.

"'A crime,' he had said," Ilya said, leaning in like a gossiping old woman, for clarification. "'It is very much a crime that a lovely woman should cover up such stunning features.'"

Atalanta hummed, approving, and Achilles whistled, smirk playing across his lips as he drank in her muscular build. She didn't seem reluctant to return the sentiments, producing a half-smile.

These conflict-seeking heroes...is that the only thing they knew what to do without a doubt? The one instinct driving them to keep living? Amakusa Shirou forced himself to stop and focus on his immediate situation.

Ilya continued, "He was quite the little bastard merely because our Masters happened to be women. If I remember correctly, he had no success which was very good as he preened far too much to be of use, except against Arc—Fuyuki's Archer."

The quartet's chatter became a distant noise as Amakusa Shirou shrunk his vision and immediate awareness to himself and Sanna.

The white cloths making up the bandages were rough on the skin and she stroked his wrists as if to apologize for it.

"Master?" Semiramis glanced at him after shooting Sanna a warning glare, who didn't even register it.

He gave Sanna a moment to adjust to his blood pressure before saying, "Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia is still alive."

Inky hair stiffened like a cat puffing up and her hands shook violently. A look of utter distraught overcame her as her breathing stuttered and shook. It was like a trap activating immediately. Not once did he wince under the excruciating pressure of Sanna's grip grinding down, similar to a method of execution: crushed to death by the placement of intense weight. The urge to smile through this trial became suppressed; Sanna wouldn't appreciate anything but the fullest solemnity.

His hands shook but the overwhelming amount of trembling came from her as she tried to form a reply to no avail.

"It is fine," he said quickly before Semiramis could try to kill Sanna. To be sure, he gave a quick nod all the while his bones creaked like a rocking chair.

"Y-y-you are, are...not _ly-lying—"_ Sanna's breathing halted. Coughing, her voice went back to a manageable level of hoarseness, wearing a thick coat of anguish, and the pressure let up like the sky clearing after a long storm. _"...how?"_

"I'm not too certain of the details but he's been preparing for this Great Holy Grail War since the end of ours which was about sixty years ago."

Sanna's throat must be dry; she tried to swallow but it resulted in another cough and she didn't look at him at all, staring at the floor instead. She sniffled.

"In any scenario I know you want to kill him, and I won't stop you. You can do whatever you'd like, how to decide his fate." He kept his voice calm and soft. "...and this is not bribery, because I will grant your wish regardless of the outcome."

He squeezed back.

The glaciers melted and the desperate gleam he was all-too familiar with shone through water. He never understood the desire to become human completely—Sanna shouldn't have to become part of a flawed species; however, she wouldn't find peace in remaining a [Divine Spirit], which he understood. Her face was entirely shocked from his admission since it was one of the few issues they clashed on.

Sanna's hands went slack and fell to her side. "For...for the, the both of us...I'll...stay. You may count on me."

"For Esmail?"

"For him," she repeated.

Meanwhile, Ilya had a sharp look as soon as Amakusa Shirou mentioned Darnic's continued existence, halting in the middle of what must have been an interesting anecdote, from Achilles's dissatisfaction.

Hua covered a yawn—that offended him a bit. Had it not been for her rigid discipline keeping herself straight, he suspected she'd very much like to sleep.

"...the leggy man with the eyes of a serpent?" Ilya pursed his lips, turning to stare at Hua meaningfully. She reciprocated it out of reflex. His was prompting; hers was perplexed. "Well, Aino did not exactly have a positive impression, you see...but now that I have thought it over...she did not like the idea of the Grail War."

Hua waited for him to finish muttering to say, "Then why did she even bother joining us?"

"Protection. What are you thinking?"

They reminded him of two dogs waiting for a command unfortunately with Ilya's big eyes and Hua's anticipation. An Alaskan Malamute and a Siberian Husky: two equally fluffy dogs, able to kill a human, differing in bulk.

"Thinking Darnic knew that." Her eyebrows furrowed. Even in a terse answer, he recognized the way she dragged out her sentences, tone low and warm.

"Not that. You." Where Hua and Sanna's voices were husky and hoarse, Ilya's was soft almost all the time.

"Well, he isn't my Master anymore."

"Didn't he work with some uppity cult? Who, I might add, were all about some sort of supremacist plans, cursed ideals, and what have you?"

"You've got me there." Hua glanced at Sanna. "Uh, so _are_ you killing him? Not that I mind."

Morgan's snort smothered Sanna's hoarse answer so the latter nodded.

"I'm a little surprised you'll converse with her so familiarly. Weren't the Masters of you two hunting for each other out of some sordid revenge? Those kind of relationships do not end well, including those around them." When Hua kept staring Morgan rolled her eyes and drifted over to play with the edges of the red scarf looping 'round Hua's neck, taking extra care to graze Ilya in the process. "I find it rather unpleasant that you excel in the arts of acting as a consummate professional. How do you manage to do it, I wonder?"

Ilya growled low in his throat. He had darted behind and held onto Hua's shoulders when Morgan's fingernail grazed his necklace and glared against the coquettish gaze.

"You may be a bear of a man but you fail to act like one properly." The sneer formed as expected, but he considered Ilya to be more of a wolf.

Hua lightly slapped Morgan's hand away after putting away her helmet.

"Maybe because I'm the only one here with discipline, smart…" she stopped and her eyes shifted to him, like an eagle eyeing a mouse in the open, and continued tersely, "Well, certainly not just one."

Amakusa Shirou raised an eyebrow and angled his head, peering back. Hua's frown grew deeper than he had thought possible and she finally looked away with a low exhale once Ilya nudged her back.

Morgan let out an aggravated huff.

"That was my mistake. I suppose I walked into that one." Choosing to snarl it out removed any gracefulness from the admission while she rubbed the slapped hand, returning to her original spot.

Shakespeare stifled a laugh, coughing into a closed fist. His other hand held a notebook and a pen for jotting down notable exchanges. Amakusa Shirou had bargained with him to not talk at all during these proceedings, in return for reading more of Shakespeare's works. A little sacrifice for a large gain.

"I've no hard feelings for Berserker," Hua went on while brushing off the scarf. She and Ilya snickered at Morgan's palpable ire; the latter released his grip from her shoulders but remained behind her. "And it's rude when he's standing over there. Right, Tokisada?" She even held out a hand for him. "'Rather snap your neck."

He wasn't imagining the scowl.

"Indeed, Hua," Amakusa Shirou found himself saying, against his will, after stopping Semiramis from carrying out an undue punishment. Their...beatdown, for lack of a better word, was soul-crushing to endure and he really, really, did not relish in reliving it again. He had felt like a tenderized lump of meat for days afterward.

Sanna shrunk into herself. "I don't either since she never tried to kill my Master so it's...fine."

"All Darnic." She sounded sorry but not in the least bit worried that talking like that to a [Divine Spirit] would net her a negative impression.

Morgan's veil made it difficult to discern her raising an eyebrow. "Yes, and you certainly did for mine."

"It was that Matou elder."

"How can I refute such evidence?" Morgan's eye roll was more obvious. "However, I considered that worthless old man to be more interesting than the son, if only for his unswerving devotion."

Hua just blinked.

Morgan got a sigh in before a realization came over her. The veil got in the way again.

"Hoh...Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, that reminds me, earlier, you said: 'This is to be expected, since they _are_ related'." A knowing smirk slowly turned her lips upward. "Don't tell me...one of my more famous relatives is participating? I for one, can only think of Arty. I suppose she and I look very similar. Although, maybe, even...Gawain? He _is_ one of the more useful children I bore." Her tone was completely casual, as if talking about the weather. "Not that it matters now. Arty is _barely_ the only other worthy member of our lore."

"You prove yourself to be someone truly deserving of the title 'witch.'" Ilya's glare could melt stone. "Only a witch could manage to be so egotistical and self-serving."

"You must find a better avenue for insults, Saber, if you merely dislike me on principle of being a witch in your religion's eyes."

 _He might have been a problem child but that didn't warrant any of this._ Amakusa Shirou reluctantly decided on waiting, to figure out what she assumed about the situation. He had waited for sixty years; he can afford to wait longer.

Atalanta's snarls were close to howls and Achilles held her back with a hand on her shoulder though he was clearly rearing to fight too. He emphasized greatly.

"Oh, have I struck a nerve? I believe you two are Achilles and Atalanta…?" Morgan stilled and the smiles and smirks she wore paled in comparison to the glee presently. "Yes, that's right. Atalanta, if I recall correctly, you are a protector of children so if you had an adverse reaction to stating facts like these then my dear son, _Mordred_ , must be—"

"—what matters is the weight you pull, so worry about yourself." Semiramis said brusquely much to the Greeks' surprise and Morgan's irritation.

"Only one evil queen allowed to mess with us, huh?" Achilles's smirk didn't reach his eyes.

"Hmph. But how on earth did le Fay figure it out so quickly?" Semiramis murmured, and opened her mouth again, possibly to dole out a backhanded compliment, but thought better of it.

"It doesn't take a sleuth to figure out which of my children were summoned," Morgan sighed, surprisingly cooperating. "Mordred does not look like an adult compared to Gaheris or Agravain. I understand Atalanta to be protective of children, especially damaged ones, and Mordred is rather foolish. I suspect the way I imparted my wisdom and skills, had a negative effect on his well-being. Although he is strong for a knight so he shouldn't complain about the methods."

Achilles gritted his teeth and Semiramis's eyes darkened.

Atalanta didn't blink as a hand glided across Tauropolos's string.

"That may be so but it changes nothing. le Fay, just what on earth do you intend to do?" She intoned. "I suppose you'd like to kill Mordred, but know this: you are allowed to fail after stepping over my cooling corpse."

Achilles nodded emphatically.

But Morgan just stared at Atalanta, trying to comprehend the anger she wore like a shroud.

"...you can't kill what isn't alive—that makes _little_ sense—if-if at _all!"_ she choked on laughter.

It was hard to make out her words between the waves of laughter, amongst other emotions like rage, but that applied more to Ilya, Achilles, and Atalanta. Semiramis disapproved for reasons he suspected were related to her divine mother; Shakespeare bathed in the display with a satisfied expression, as if he had reached enlightenment; Hua and Sanna were unfazed.

Amakusa Shirou couldn't bring himself to join in for any of the reactions, suddenly exhausted from Morgan's reaction. Even if he felt like his hackles were raising from her blatant disregard for life.

"Oh! _Oh!_ You can't blame me for what happens when a sword starts to rust or armor loses its shine. What do you suppose you would do with a broken tool, hmmm? Sometimes you'll have to admit that maybe the tool isn't able to be fixed once broken into countless pieces."

"You bastard—I _ought_ to break your neck!" Ilya thundered and he drew the sword previously resting on his back. "Even Baba Yaga would never be so callous with lives!" Steel glinted of its own accord, seeped in mana swirling alongside Magecraft.

"I thought you wouldn't be so...defensive of Mordred, considering his epithet," Morgan remarked when her laughter subsided, holding her sides loosely.

"I may not have met the knight you speak of, and his reputation leaves much to be desired, but insulting someone who cannot defend himself is not something I should stand for." His angry posture suggested that he would fight a whole horde of bears barehanded just to get to Morgan. "What has Mordred ever done to me? Nothing. He is not my enemy yet."

With that sword, he certainly could against Morgan. Strictly speaking, the mech-kladenets was a Noble Phantasm without being designated as one formally; it had the constitution of named swords held by prestigious Sabers. The magic sword. The sword of steel. The self-swinging sword. A hidden sword in several places waiting to be discovered by the _bogatyr_ hero—lending itself to all Russian knight-errants. Against a magic-user like Morgan it was a necessary boon.

However, Hua slightly opening her mouth evaporated any concern for in-fighting to break out, as though she was about to say something.

Semiramis discreetly formed a glowing portal while Atalanta nocked an arrow silently. Morgan drew in great pleasure at Ilya's anger, not even focusing on the other people's wrath she incurred.

"Is that correct? Although, this reminds me, if I consider the scenario where Mordred died against Arty, I suppose even broken tools can have their last—"

"—le Fay." Hua's voice sharpened, like metal scraping against metal; Morgan went motionless under her eyes while everyone fought the urge to converge on her. "Oh, that's great, you remember then—how your Noble Phantasm didn't affect me."

"I would have preferred to not remember the altercation." Morgan seethed, and among other things dripping in her voice, a sliver of apprehension.

Ilya reluctantly sheathed the mech-kladenets after Hua nodded at him.

Atalanta and Semiramis backed down, still poised for action.

"And you won't if you'll be silent already." Hua studied Amakusa Shirou; he was trying to calm himself, telling himself that Morgan viewed all homunculi like that. "Do you plan to stand all day, or night?"

Achilles barreled straight into the conversation. "We've heard the reasons for Berserker and Lancer, but not Saber and le Fay."

He didn't break away from Hua's stare. "...is that so? Well, le Fay is simple. Her assistance in manipulating the Greater Grail would be appreciated."

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"And if she does not," Amakusa Shirou continued, looking away from Hua's stare when she gave a slight nod, "then she will simply help in her original function."

"If you phrase it like that, then it seems I have no choice." Morgan gave him a black look, censored by the veil. "Contrary to expectations, I have no want to be in a void until returning to the Throne of Heroes."

Achilles was satisfied on that front and looked to Ilya.

"And aren't you're a _bogatyr?_ The Grail says you're some great, quintessential Russian hero. Real brave and such," he drawled, "so why aren't you against this?"

A hawk and a wolf met each other's eyes.

"'Salvation,'" Ilya said through gritted teeth. "'Salvation' he says." There was a wild light in his eyes and he didn't look away as he jabbed a finger in Amakusa Shirou's direction. "He has me on a tightening noose and I can't kill this prodigious fool for Aino! Had it not been for _you_ forcing _your_ wish on _me_ , then _I_ would've killed _you_ on the spot."

Amakusa Shirou couldn't resist saying: "It is said that the _bogatyr's_ strength is not solely physical. He only defeats his enemies because he stands on the side of the truth. And, as the Russian saying goes, 'God is not in strength, but in truth.'"

Achilles and Atalanta were completely alarmed as Hua seized Ilya by the collar, hereby stopping his ill-fated plan of ripping Amakusa Shirou's head off. He suspected that Morgan proving herself to be an acceptable target was the bigger difference between he and her.

Semiramis stepped in front of him, a cutting image of cool control, and Sanna's shaking thumb was nearing her mouth when he saw it. Her eyebrows knit together and he shook his head in a firm no; he shuddered to think of the aftermath concerning the Hanging Gardens and her mental state after materializing the Reality Marble.

Sanna's shoulders sagged in relief soon afterward.

The rest was ready for an attack to set off a tussle. Except for Shakespeare; he was unabashedly scribbling unintelligible notes. (The first to go, he thought in bad taste).

 _"Hey,"_ Hua said. "If you go off then I'll go off."

"Better one of us then none at all," Ilya barked and dug in his heels, straining against her Strength. "You mustn't misunderstand me, Ruler! I cannot kill you but there is nothing about avoiding the extremities and crippling!"

"Holding back can easily enter the lethal sector." Semiramis observed with a sneer.

"You're not helping," Hua muttered and braced herself when Ilya bucked. Her bones popped as she tightened her hold. "Then you're fine with becoming an invalid again, I guess."

Ilya squawked and spun around to face her. "I didn't think you'd know!"

"It's fine," Hua said before Semiramis could offer her assistance. "Aino told me."

"To look out for me—" Ilya mumbled, stopping in his tracks. "She didn't tell me. Why hadn't she? Why did she tell you, and you only?"

"Ramses's Master was a blabbermouth," she said as gently as she could which still amounted to sounding like a porcupine. _And so are you_ , went unsaid.

Achilles looked like he swallowed something sour. He knew enough about the Greek hero to understand that he hated the idea of being held back by something so _impractical._

Indeed, to act against salvation was sacrilegious.

For the first thirty-three years of his life Ilya had been stricken by a disease, robbing him of any mobility and laid on a Russian oven until two pilgrims came and blessed him. Foretelling him that he "will not fall in battle," he went on to serve Prince Vladimir the Fair Sun, defending Kievan Rus from invaders. As a Heroic Spirit, it manifested as [Blessing of the Pilgrims] to cancel out [Weak Constitution] as both were of the EX Rank variety. Should Ilya decide to act in a blasphemous manner then [Blessing of the Pilgrims] would be revoked.

Not that he suspected Ilya would ever commit fraudulent acts; being the sole hero canonized by the Russian Orthodox Church proved it. There was a reason why his name was a synonym of outstanding physical and spiritual power and integrity, after all.

"This posturing of yours does nothing to convince anyone about your sleuthing skills, Saber," Morgan remarked. "What use is being a guile hero when you've got a volcanic head on those shoulders?"

Ilya's glare was pure loathing.

"Mis-misdirection," Sanna agreed.

He nodded. "Sanna is right. I didn't kill your Master. That's rather incorrect for the most part. It was unfortunate how my actions led to the situation but it was le Fay who did the act in the end."

Ilya didn't budge but gave Hua look of assurance so she let go. "You're still an enemy to defeat."

Morgan's shoulders shook and he realized she was laughing silently at Ilya.

"It _is_ pretty unfortunate," Hua said, sticking her hands in her pockets afterward, "but it's just how things are for now."

He knew better than to assume this tiger's claws were trimmed.

Semiramis sighed, rubbing her forehead, and said in exasperation, "The both of you won't be fighting my Master if I can help it. I've already noticed the lack of strength in your [Magical Resistance]. You will have to go through me first and I doubt you would survive my Magecraft."

"There's only one magic-wielding evil queen I'm killing and it's not you," Ilya said brusquely. "Don't delude yourself."

Semiramis sneered. "Excuse me, but considering you are in my domain there is no need to have to choose between the two 'magic-wielding evil queens'. Moreover, I can be counted as an empress _._ Would you not rather fight the more prestigious of the two? That is what all the knight-errants back in the day liked to do—claim the maximum amount of glory possible. Or are you so unsure of yourself?"

If Morgan had something in her hands, she would've snapped it from how white her knuckles were.

"Do you take me for a fool?!" He demanded.

Semiramis gestured at Hua. "Then how come you're standing behind her?"

Ilya never responded to the question. Hua didn't quite groan but she made a similarly-insulting noise.

"Mulan has E-Rank," Sanna rasped. "Have you forgotten?"

"It sucks. Reclaim that satisfaction in being average."

"Through the benevolent grace of God and his esteemed will, our Agility will let us rip out le Fay's heart before anything else." He raised a fist and shook it, glowering. "We all know she is not putting it to use. Mulan, I know you're with me so you don't have to keep feigning neutrality."

Achilles's hand ghosted over his torso as if Ilya's words were a timely reminder in conjunction with an uncomfortable wince.

 _"You_ , are right," Hua confirmed, drawing out each word, and patted Ilya's back.

"Not with [Protection of the Fairies]," Morgan said, amused, and rubbed her hands in almost imperceptible agitation after Hua's response.

Amakusa Shirou stopped them before they became derailed again. "As heartening as it is to see Muromets and Hua to still have a riveting romance, I would like to move onto the next stage."

Hua stared at him until his smile slipped off much to his chagrin.

...he had thought she appreciated jokes of most, if not all, kinds. Amakusa Shirou recalled one of many instances in which even Ramses's puns made her laugh—his puns were decidedly of the secondhand embarrassment kind. Apparently not. Or had this been the wrong occasion?

"Making claims like those is more than a bit too far, Ruler," Ilya spat out once Morgan's laughter subsided, shuddering in revulsion.

He chuckled and almost smiled at Ilya's predictable annoyance. Familiarity did not breed contempt in this situation for Amakusa Shirou.

"I had no idea my opinion meant so much to you," he said, mocking the way Hua dragged out her words, tone just as long and warm. He looked at her while he said it.

"I had no idea you were interested in a double suicide." Her eyes weren't anything like chocolate, sweet and warm. The burning-red glimmers coaxing out the anger finally formed in hard, flinty charcoal.

"I'll admit that it was a poor choice of words. But now, Hua, if you'll be so kind as to offer some of your—"

"—never phrase friendship like that ever again," she said flatly and stretched out her arm, palm flat and vertical. The cold valor she wore constantly sharpened and swelled, like soaking yourself in a hot spring, in preparation.

Shakespeare practically vibrated with excitement. Amakusa Shirou couldn't blame him; he himself was intrigued at witnessing Hua's unique Noble Phantasms.

"What self-restraint." Semiramis rolled her eyes and joined her. "I suppose I'll be the first one."

She mimicked Hua and their fingers intertwined. Hua's breathing deepened and Semiramis tensed, wary for any tricks.

"Oh? You want to do it so soon?" Morgan's sultry voice was not appreciated by anyone except Shakespeare.

"I hope you die even with her assistance," Ilya snapped.

"Again—"

"—I'm sorry I couldn't spare the mana for Aino." Hua's concentration never wavered and Ilya went so still and silent it startled Sanna, wearing remorse like a crestfallen cloak.

Morgan became silent out of entirely different reasons.

"Archer, you'll need to take off your gauntlet for this," Amakusa Shirou said to Atalanta.

Atalanta's ears twitched and went flat against her head while Semiramis and Hua gained a "contract" as if they were sharing mana.

Achilles's sudden stare didn't deter him.

"And what is 'this?'" She frowned but slowly took off her right gauntlet. They weren't in a position to be refusing in the first place.

"Call it a...blessing, of a sort. But Hua's Noble Phantasms won't do any harm. I promise you."

"...then you can't blame me if I'd prefer to be last."

"That's fine."

It was too bad how both Hua's Noble Phantasms were limited to being Anti-Unit (Self), but he had to admit, the boons were greatly beneficial, especially with female allies.

The first: Crest of the Valorous: The Unknown Youxia which was her only viable Noble Phantasm, as it was continuously active much like Karna's Kavacha and Kundala. After the war in ancient China concluded, Hua was offered rewards and recognition; however, she chose a swift horse so that she could return home. This meant no matter where she was summoned, she would always be considered "home." Therefore she would always be granted a fame boost and increase in Parameters.

The second: Laotong: The Pact of Sworn Sisters was like a supplement. There was no guarantee Hua would have a female Master, and all alliances in a Holy Grail War were temporary; this was an unbreakable bond that granted the "sister" the right to use Crest of the Valorous passively so long as Hua was alive. Of course, there was also the tedious problem of knowing exactly _where_ and _what_ the status of each other was.

 _"Huang sè."_ The outline of a yellow magnolia unfurled onto the back of Semiramis's hand and they separated soon after.

Semiramis stretched her marked hand out and Amakusa Shirou rubbed his eye, examining her new Parameters, finding them to be satisfactory.

"Strength D++, Endurance D++...even her Luck is A+," he said, mostly for Atalanta and Achilles's benefit as they stood in stunned silence.

A small noise escaped Shakespeare but he let it slide.

"I must say, this is...unexpected." A smirk followed as Semiramis examined it under a keen eye. "Not that I'd complain about such a royal color."

"Fought for a khaganate," Hua explained, indifferent. "Xiongnu, not Han."

"I only called you a Tartar twice…" Ilya grumbled.

Morgan sashayed over next, though the confident front was a moot point, as she was obviously disconcerted the whole time even though Hua didn't menace her with a glare or anything of the sort. Ilya's glare went unreciprocated.

Fingers intertwined, Hua muttered, _"Bái sè."_

This time: a white magnolia.

"I had the impression you and I were not exactly on...horrible or...affable terms." Morgan dragged her eyes from the hand to meet Hua's and asked in a neutral voice: "Did he put you up to this?"

"I hate all of you equally. _You_ I like," she amended after Ilya coughed loudly. Then Hua's grip became taut before the latter could retort. "Not really superstitious but fine, sure, if that's what you want— _Hūi bái sè."_

It crinkled into a gray-white.

"Much better. _Thank you_."

 _"Hóng sè."_ Sanna shielded her bare hand the whole time and wrapped it up quickly afterward, so Amakusa Shirou barely caught a glimpse of the red magnolia.

 _"Lǜ sè."_ Atalanta stalked back over to Achilles once it was over; her discomfort fading soon after and almost smacked him when he poked the green magnolia.

But she was off-guard when he asked if she felt any different, shrugging the gauntlet back on. "It's like being boosted by a command spell; however, it depends on an off-and-on switch. If that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't." And he looked to Amakusa Shirou, tilting his head and didn't bother covering up his annoyance. "Are we done here? Not really ecstatic to be in this company."

Amakusa Shirou nodded. "Consider this to be an introductory meeting of your new colleagues, for lack of a better analogy."

Atalanta looked away from him with a grunt.

Before Achilles and Atalanta went up the stairs, he asked, _"How is your rib cage?"_ as Atalanta hadn't exactly seemed hurt after Semiramis's attack earlier. His mind was flooded with Achilles's unfiltered surprise, then instant wariness.

 _"Just. Fine,"_ Achilles answered, ignoring how he stumbled on a step, and the two Greeks left, obviously on edge.

"And will we have free reign, hmmm?" Morgan asked sweetly. "Shall I consider this parole? Your saintliness would be at risk should you not even let me prove you right."

At long last, Morgan's heavy gaze fell upon his still form and he allowed an ocean of dispassion to engulf him, not liking what would happen if he hadn't. He needed Semiramis to be with him, or at the very least, someone else when he, Shakespeare, and Morgan start manipulating the Greater Grail.

For now he would dispel the mistaken belief that he considered her his greatest enemy from Fuyuki's War.

Sanna reaching out to brush her hand against his gave him little comfort but he appreciated it, returning the gesture.

"It rests on how many irrelevant comments you make. Just like that one," Amakusa Shirou answered, still watching the stairs. "But you can start by letting me talk to Hua."

He refused to turn and see Morgan.

* * *

Ilya crossed his arms, back to the wall, glaring at Morgan as she passed him with a huff. Sanna faltered once out of the basement and after seeing his soft smile and open attitude, she chose to wait with him.

Atalanta and Achilles were probably in the water garden they seemed to prefer, even ignoring the rooms given. Incredibly insulting but then again, she expected coarse warriors like them to "weather the the elements".

No one cared about Shakespeare with him camping out in his cluttered study. With the way he still badgered her about the concoction caused her to be tempted to postpone it for every time he asked, with those irritatingly smug smirks. He should be satisfied with its mere existence.

Semiramis closed the flickering screen with a wave of her hand, sighing to herself. Back on the opulent throne, she could ruminate on the new Servants in guaranteed silence.

Three out of four of the new Servants were easy to categorize. Ilya was like Achilles but less like a pretty gem and more like raw steel, on an adamantine leash. Sanna wasn't a threat to anyone on the Red side once Amakusa Shirou mentioned Darnic—she could respect her devotion to revenge. Hua was the very definition of a mercenary; she would not be the one to extinguish his dreams.

However, the last one was troubling.

It bothered her more than she could ever tolerate. Even unnerving. Revolting. Morgan le Fay confounded her in the long-hated way of maternal affairs, something Semiramis would have _loved_ to left in Assyria. To explain: it was like an eerie sensation, like meeting one's doppelganger—not just in appearances—against all odds. Ilya's outright comparison hadn't helped. Morgan's openness with her sordid practices removed all secretiveness of her emotions. Semiramis had always kept an unbreakable grip on her decorum in life out of necessity against lecherous men and weak-willed women. She could've been like Morgan if she had grown up with even the slightest bias toward an unhinged mentality. Although she liked to think she had never became a "parent" similar to Morgan's way of rearing children.

Strangely enough, several Heroic Spirits gathered in this War had several issues relating to their heritage, in the ways of wicked and callous parents.

Frankenstein's creator hadn't ever shown affection, cursing her and forcing his faults onto a newly-born existence.

Jack the Ripper searched constantly for their true mother, where they were supposed to be safe, with no expectations.

The king of Arcadia forced Atalanta into marriage and into the hands of the Olympian gods as a chew toy.

All of Sanna's myths ended with descending to the underworld to become the goddess of the hunt after her father took her out to sea in a kayak and chopped off her fingers.

In particular, Atalanta and Sanna's didn't sit well with her as a result of men as perpetrators. And she, Semiramis, abandoned by Derketo because that foolish goddess couldn't handle her pride being sullied by a defenseless babe.

Hua, Karna, and Achilles could never empathize with their situations, having been blessed with forgiving parents.

In that respect, Mordred was definitely one of the more wretched legends. All of the aforementioned women had some form of eventual retribution, even if not at the specific targets, but she? Never had an opportunity to lash out on her terms. All her hatred was molded to the king and the king only, courtesy of Morgan.

The thoughts eventually fell to her Master. She hadn't missed his reaction to Morgan, and he never elaborated on the history between them. Sanna willingly touching his hands with hers startled her; she trusted him that much? But while she reflected on him, it was a sharp and somewhat uncomfortable realization to comprehend the way he acted with her. Amakusa Shirou hadn't acted uncouth toward her, just respectful of his position, and never dismissed her offered opinions in every affair. She was even concerned for his well-being after Morgan appeared.

Similar to Karna, not a typical man or woman easily categorized, not a human easily understandable. He was an exception to the rule and she had no clue if she hated or liked him for finally breaking the infuriating mold. Sometime after Amakusa Shirou summoned her, she attempted tempting him with unrestrained power after he tried sitting in her throne for a change, and he _refused._

As the days progressed, she came to understand that he was completely fine with the idea of dying in the end, but only after salvation passed.

If she betrayed him, then he would simply move on, not reacting with the typical anger or sadness. His aptitude at acceptance disturbed her greatly and the fact that there would be no satisfaction at betraying him sent an icy feeling up her spine.

Amakusa Shirou wasn't someone who "served her" but rather someone who "walked alongside her" and that twisted all her knowledge about men and women into a knot with no end.

Semiramis halted upon that realization. ...would it seem as if she acted for his benefit solely if she wanted to eliminate Morgan? No, that wasn't exactly correct when she had her own score to settle with Morgan's own lack of proper parenting skills. It was just convenient, that's all. A coincidental alignment of overarching goals. Any other excess theories were thrown out. Satisfied with that, she finally knew what to do.

She should _—would be_ better than Morgan. That thought stood tall above all plans concerning Mordred's eventual confrontation. Perhaps Hua's Laotong granting her a higher Luck would create a situation for Semiramis to kill Morgan herself. If not, then Ilya could take care of the problem himself.

* * *

There was a good amount of distance between the two, since both were careful not to intrude on the fragile peace between them.

"Earlier, you said you hate all of us equally," Amakusa Shirou said. "I find that a little strange when I was standing right there after making me out to be your bitter nemesis."

"Oh. Well, uh, was kind of dissociating into the land of sleep." She was stumped. "If it makes you feel better, then you're still higher on the list because you make for a convenient target."

It didn't.

Instead of getting into that topic, he said, "I'm a little thankful you aren't really being that prickly Lancer I fought."

"Give it time and there'll be a cactus."

"Adequate sunshine and water, I have plenty of. Sand is another matter, I'm afraid."

Hua was silent for a moment before facing him, crossing her arms. "What's wrong?"

It was refreshing, he supposed. To be among people with candid conversations and unchecked criticism.

"Why are you so calm?" He asked.

For a second, he thought he saw surprise flash across her face but it was smothered by the way she closed her eyes and shook her head to herself.

"...my grief with that command spell is my grief. Fighting for you is another thing. I don't go back on commitments."

"And my wish?"

She shrugged at his frown and somehow made her tired stare insulting.

"Don't care _._ Not really much to think about humanity after fighting endless masses for twelve years. No interest in reincarnation either—in regard to Berserker and Ilya, I guess. Maybe you might get my congratulations if there's success but I'd prefer your head at my feet. For reclaiming the honor and dignity of my ancestors. That is all I can do now." She looked away.

Amakusa Shirou had done some investigations into Chinese culture out of a morbid curiosity. He understood her reasoning. Too much. The words "For filial duty?" left his mouth instantly. Immediate regret spilled forth and his heart thumped in his chest with a fiery vengeance, almost jumping out his throat as she stiffened, knowing her current inclinations favored homicide.

Her jaw was taut as a drawn bowstring and her drawn-out snort was unquestionably violent.

 _"Of course."_

If he could see her eyes in that moment, then they would've scorched him on the spot.

"Then I am sorry for what it is worth."

It was extremely difficult to cajole the heartbeat into returning to a manageable level.

Hua breathed in and out as bone-white knuckles unclenched and forced to go flat against her sides.

"It's not that much because Ramses can't refuse it. He's not present." Gruff, but not apoplectic.

"..."

Hua gave him half a minute to not respond to it before shouldering past him. Planting himself once she moved kept him upright.

"One last question," he said, lilting the words like a prayer to soothe his nerves. He knew it was more out of acknowledgement than ire, as it was fading already, and turned around to see her always-straight posture. It was natural, he told himself, in regard to the anger building up again like the _pitter-patter_ of sprinkling raindrops. "le Fay—"

A snort tried to shove the question back into his mouth. Admonishment for an obvious question? But Amakusa Shirou wanted to see how she'd react, though he appreciated how quickly she picked up on his darkening mood.

"I know," she answered, glancing over her shoulder, still moving. "Don't worry."

"Thank you." Relief fluttered into an uneasy flight when the hard edges of her mouth curled up into a smile. Even if the smile was more like a humorless smirk Amakusa Shirou took what he was given.

Leaving via spirit form, she added, "I'll wait till it's over."

He stared at the empty space for a few minutes, thinking, but pushing the memories of their battle to the precipices of his mind. It could have been worse, enough to drag in the other Servants on the Hanging Gardens. But the soldier from the steppes and the boy of miracles didn't greet each other with their fists. Because of her self-restraint, he admired her cool head and more importantly, her decency. Respect or honor, it didn't matter to him, as long as she kept her hands away from his neck before his wish could be granted.

* * *

 **A/N: Anyway, I went back and edited some of the previous chapters. No major changes, though. And with this chapter, I think there's less than 10 chapters left.**

 **An anon on A03 helped me create the False Servants, so yeah...here are the first two profiles.**

 **Servant: False Caster of Red**  
 **True Name: Morgan le Fay**  
 **Height/Weight: 171 cm/5'7", 53 kg/121 lbs**  
 **Other Classes: Caster**  
 **Alignment: Chaotic Evil**  
 **STR: D AGL: D**  
 **END: E MGC: A**  
 **LCK: A+ NP: A**

 **Class Skills:**

 **[Territory Creation] A+**  
 **[Item Construction] B+**

 **Personal Skills:**

 **[Protection of the Fairies] A**  
 **[Faerie Eye] B**  
 **[Artificial Life Construction] A**  
 **[Writing of the Fae] C**  
 **NP: The Fields of Camlann: Apple of the Seven Sins B+: Anti-City**

 **Servant: False Lancer of Red**  
 **True Name: Hua Mulan**  
 **Height/Weight: 183 cm/6'0", 76 kg/167 lbs**  
 **Other Classes: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider**  
 **Alignment: True Neutral**  
 **STR: B AGL: A**  
 **END: A+ MGC: E**  
 **LCK: B NP: D**

 **Class Skills:**

 **[Magical Resistance] E**  
 **[Riding] C**

 **Personal Skills:**

 **[Uncrowned Martial Arts]**  
 **[Knowledge of Melees] A**  
 **[Chinese Martial Arts] B**  
 **[Unyielding Will] A+**  
 **NP: Crest of the Valorous: The Unknown Youxia B Anti-Unit (Self), Laotong: The Pact of Sworn Sisters C: Anti-Unit (Team)**


	18. Chapter 14

**zzoi: I'm guessing it's because of the A/N I made in the previous chapter lmao, but thanks!**

 **ZenoZen: About 2-4 people unfollowed, but I'm not really annoyed, just thought it was hilarious because I would totally do the same if you had OCs come in and make a mockery the canon characters because power-scaling. I guess it'd be different if I used official Servants.**

 **demonic hellfire: No, they won't, because Amakusa Shirou was only able to draw out the False Servants because he has the Greater Grail.**

 **Mastermind4892: Oh, I didn't even think about using First Folio on Vlad, since I have an outline planned. But now that I think about it, there's nothing really stopping me, and it'd make sense. About helping you with the stats, I'm not entirely sure if I _could_ because it really depends on the crossover. But PM me and I'll see what I can do. **

**nick1012: Thank you! It's a crime that Higashide didn't write at least one interaction with the four. In FGO's Apocrypha event, I'm pretty sure Mordred called Achilles a carrot-head so it's happening.**

* * *

He dithered in front of the door, thankful no one else was around to see this moment of uncertainty. But he had an offering for the dragon dwelling behind so he shouldn't be too worried.

Chiron had a large hunch that many might lose part of their faith in his credentials as the one person who never lost his cool. Vlad did not count as everyone knew any discussion of the vampiric addendum to his reputation was the cue to rage terribly.

Caules and Fiore had been left with an uneasy question to think over and while it was akin to pushing the baby birds out of a nest, the situation required a do-or-die action. It was unbecoming but he vastly preferred Darnic to have 'accidentally' died instead of Celenike. Celenike was a hurdle easily surmountable but Darnic's current status as the head of Yggdmillennia meant Fiore still adhered to him first. At least she had mostly calmed down, and by the time he took his leave, she was already deep in thought without any additional turmoil.

In the end, he put that out of his mind for now. Needless worrying was best left to those with the time.

Although Mordred had to know he was waiting, from his signature alone, but he preferred to keep his manners intact.

"Saber? Are you awake?" Chiron rapped his knuckles on the door, listening.

Something _thumped_ , muffled by carpet, as if she was surprised. A reply came not a moment too soon.

"—it's unlocked."

He smiled at the lessened animosity as he entered only to be engulfed by a steady stream of mist. Humidity stuck to his clothes. After shutting the door behind him gently, he waved away most of the steam, noticing the other and opened door leading to a bathroom.

She must have been taking a bath. Chiron glanced around for anyone else. Kairi wasn't present but Karna was. Not that he was in any state to converse as he slumbered on. His face was buried in a pillow whilst lying on his stomach; he hadn't even bothered to drag the sheets over him but at least his shoes were off. But Chiron had to chuckle at the bright-red leather jacket draped across his shoulders.

A few more minutes passed, shuffling noises came from the bathroom, and he leaned against the wall, waiting patiently. If she took longer than what was necessary, he wasn't going to comment on it. Perhaps she wanted to pamper herself after a long night. Understandable.

The shuffling increased and Mordred stalked out with riveting confidence, towel around her shoulders as she wrestled her damp hair into submission. Droplets left wet spots in her white shirt but couldn't be picked out from dark denim. She shrugged on her socks and boots afterward while giving him a strange look. But it was lowered from the way her soft hair wasn't in its usual ponytail, making her look younger by framing her face.

"So do you want something?" She ripped the towel from her shoulders and applied it to her hair.

"I came to check up on you and Lancer." Chiron was unfazed, having an overabundance of experience with people not acting their age. "You're allowed to be honest. Would you prefer Lord Darnic to take matters into his own hands instead?"

"No," she said sourly.

It was then did he notice Mordred's hands. Rubbed raw and red. No blood, though. Skin flakes continued to litter the carpet, leaving a white trail as she tromped over to a nearby chair and all but collapsed into it. Chiron had been conscious of choosing not to sit, so she would assume he wasn't staying longer. And she would be right if Mordred allowed him to talk with her.

He started with the state of the wounds dealt from their first fight. While his was on the mend from Clarent Blood Arthur still it would be perfectly fine for their final battle. But Mordred's eye wasn't going to regain any vision. Not unless a miracle happened and he didn't bother covering up his worry; he knew she would appreciate complete honesty. She was understandably suspicious about his questions throughout the conversation, shooting him furtive glares.

"Spiritual cores are like those rubber band things so it'll bounce back," Mordred said, ignoring that even rubber bands will break given enough tension. "Look, if you're concerned about my value, then don't. We'll all be fighting anyway so it's a waste of your time."

"That's unnecessary, in my opinion, and I can't cast doubt on your abilities since you injured me with your Noble Phantasm even after that spectacle from Antares Snipe."

Saying things like "I'm sorry" or "I wish we hadn't come to blows in that way" were worthless words. The fact that she was a homunculus, younger than she appeared to be, hadn't factored into his decision—but he remained considerate all the while of his phrasing. If he treated her like a child, then it would be tantamount to calling her skills into question. And those skills were a result of hard work and determination.

 _"What isn't necessary?"_

"I understand it all. Where your reasoning was born, and cultivated. You must _understand_ that I cannot blame you for thinking this way, so I won't."

"No blame…? What are you on—" Mordred recoiled by jerking upright and he understood that too: how disheartening _—frustrating—_ it must be every time her emotions were made obvious, malleable as fresh clay because she hadn't experienced much of the world. This strife, this dissent, this unrefined rage. It was a weakness and a strength she couldn't modify. People like Chiron were her natural enemies. People who made use of blunted views.

"Furthermore, you can expect me to not try and persuade you for an appeal," he said.

Her mouth dropped open. "Uhwha...what is that _supposed to mean?!"_ She tilted her head with evident confusion.

"It means I respect your opinion." Chiron watched her splutter again with a level gaze. "You must understand that when I said it, it isn't out of arrogance or faked concern. And, while we're at it, about the subject of Achilles: it is undeniable that we're both partially right, but I realize how this matter is...volatile, so I ask of you to set it aside, until we reunite with him."

Mordred was silent after clamping a hand over her jaw to stop the flood of incoherent words. When she regained control, her voice was low and neutral.

"...you won't try to persuade me?"

"No."

"You won't start an argument?"

"No."

She rubbed her face as she groaned. "...s-seriously...today is too much. Why does everything lately have to be soaked in drama?! But Archer, don't you _dare_ think that this makes us all buddy-buddy."

Chiron nodded at her stern expression.

"Then allow me to change the subject to medical matters. I would like to check your bad eye, with your consent."

Mordred rubbed her neck and grumbled, making all sorts of unhappy noises before giving in, cracking the eyelid open and Chiron got up to come closer. It was fortunate Karna hadn't stirred but also somewhat worrying if that didn't wake him up. While Mordred accepted Chiron's aid albeit petulantly, letting him examine Karna was another matter he wasn't willing to break their fragile truce over.

Her going stiller than stone gave extra cause to act slower than necessary but Chiron didn't mind adhering to her unconscious biases. Aware of their relative proximity to each other, Chiron held her head with light hands. He peered at her left eye, glossed over and a translucent milky-white. Concentrating on keeping the eyelid closed to prevent any further irritation would be distracting, he understood, but otherwise, there wasn't any residual pain. He hummed reassuringly when she frowned at his ministration and relayed his diagnosis. She noticeably relaxed as she comprehended it, and he took the opportunity to back up and form the item he took from the medical supply before heading over, holding it out for her.

"This...is an eye patch," she stated and took it on instinct. "What. Why." Mordred stared at him with suspicion. "...how?"

"I see we don't have to test the clarity of your remaining vision."

"Shut it." Mordred put it on anyway and frowned, adjusting the string. A scowl formed and a hesitant indication of gratitude entered her voice. "This is way easier...I'm glad now since it was irritating to manuallyhey! I'm only medium-glad, Archer! Don't get on your high horrr... _ssseee_..."

Chiron stifled the laughter as Mordred dragged her hands over her face.

Afterward, she said quietly, "Hey, Archer?" with little belligerence.

"Yes?"

"How's the grub here?" A hair tie previously resting on her wrist was used to put her blonde hair back into the usual ponytail.

"First, have you rested at all since retiring to this room?"

Mordred's sigh was expected, as if he had been nagging her. _"Yes_. It's like two o'clock now...so about seven or eight hours I think. That's good enough."

He smiled and opened the door, gesturing for her to go first.

* * *

They sat across from each other at a table for "lunch" in the cafeteria—a wide and tall room with most tables occupied for places to sit. Mordred didn't mind the blandness and lack of other furniture because she was eating as fast as she could. Chiron learning about the way to a knight's heart through their stomach was not worth the sight of Mordred inhaling plates decked with food. He had to avert his eyes when she asked if there were any more servings available.

The homunculus in charge had to deny her and she didn't get angry, to his pleasant surprise, just annoyed but directed at Kairi and herself, apparently.

"My Master's mana reserves are still emptyish, maybe a quarter," Mordred explained through a leftover drumstick. "Can't put more stress on him if I can't help it."

"And yet that stress is being shoved onto Yggdmillennia," Chiron remarked. "Not that I'm accusing you," he added after her sharp look. "Will he be well enough to fight?"

"Depends on the opponent. But not the Hanging Gardens."

They kept talking about other subjects. Sometimes the rhythm became discordant at certain intervals but always managed to press on. Her enthusiasm, when not covered with barbed irritation, was a strong reminder of when the students he taught were young, earnest, and bright-eyed. Because of that he was disappointed that it came to an end when Jeanne, Sieg, and Astolfo arrived, making a beeline for them.

Jeanne was practically shouldering Sieg's entire weight, not that it was a burden on her, and Astolfo took up the rear, worried. Sieg was haggard in appearance and movement. Though all of this happened in an unobtrusive manner, as much as Astolfo attempted.

"We need to talk," she murmured and sat Sieg down, ignoring how conflicted Mordred was as he was next to her. "He had an accident just now. It's related to Saber of Black."

Mordred propped a hand under her chin; she hadn't turned to face them fully but she was listening. Astolfo blinked at her face and a slow grin crept into existence.

"Nice eye patch," he stage-whispered, leaning in and earning a look of contempt. "Really looks cu

Chiron raised his voice to muffle Astolfo's comment. "How recently?"

"About four to six minutes. It happened near the hallways where injured homunculi are recuperating."

He studied Sieg: the pallor, the shortness to his breathing, and the blackening hand.

"How many times have you transformed?" he asked.

"Once," Sieg answered and winced as tremor passed. "But it was worth it, against Spartacus."

"Sieg...I remember you saying something that reminded me of your savior," Chiron said carefully. "Were you aware—"

Mordred slamming the beer mug onto hollow wood stole their attention. She dragged out a groan of pure frustration.

"Faker," she declared without shame. "Doesn't matter if we're both homunculi—you're _not like me_."

Chiron had to agree with her, but she could've delivered it in a kinder format.

"Um...?" Jeanne blinked. "Are you referring to Sieg?"

"Filthy sham. That's what you are, nothing but an imitation doing a crappy job."

"Can you...I don't know...maybe _explain?"_ Astolfo was scandalized. "Not everyone can understand you right off the bat. Though, there's Karna or Atalanta, I'd reckon."

Mordred's eye narrowed and he flailed, backpedaling with an abundance of apologies while Jeanne frowned but she didn't interfere.

"Do...do you really believe that?" Sieg didn't take heed of Astolfo's lingering indignation, firmly locked on Mordred's eye.

She nodded in a slow, deliberate manner.

"It's obvious. With Saber of Black...Siegfried's power, you're just limited to being a martyr for that backwater knight's crusty ideals. Even your name stops yourself from being your own person." Something unpleasant flashed in her eye. "God, you're really committed to being the idea of a regular homunculus, aren't you? At least I have the dignity of choosing my path now!" She struck the table, impact echoing throughout the cafeteria and the homunculi stopped milling around, staring at them. "Why are you running around so much?! Where's your breaking pedal?"

Chiron just considered it to be lucky how she didn't break the table.

A homunculus broke off to tiptoe into the hallway. Once through, the sound of sprinting feet echoed back into the cafeteria.

"'Crusty ideals?!'" Astolfo snapped, completely missing her point.

Jeanne laid a hand on Astolfo's shoulder and shook her head to his worry.

"Let them talk," she whispered.

"I..." Sieg opened his mouth again and closed it before looking away.

Mordred groaned and the arm that supported her head slid into the center of the table, attempting to glimpse Sieg's troubled face.

"So what are you thinking about now? How to find a new goal? How to live maybe? Your future? What are you going to take up your sword and fight for—that isn't related to Siegfried? Or Ruler and Rider? And the homunculi don't count. We're still fighting for them even if they've got their own names."

"How did you know?" Sieg said. "About me and Rider, I mean."

Mordred shrugged and her expression was completely serious. "Achilles told me what happened after Spartacus died. Not really something to admire when you've got people who'd take advantage of it."

"—I have to think about it." Turmoil blossomed in his shaky voice and he finally met her gaze.

Her visible eye narrowed in understandable consternation.

 _"Really_ think about it." Mordred stood up and turned around sharply, as if dismissing a herald.

She got in a few steps before Jeanne interrupted.

"Saber! Please wait around here for a bit," she said. "During one of our talks, Vlad recommended to me that we take a look at this French restaurant and, excellent due to the, um, _une congrégation_."

To her credit, she only stumbled on the flimsy explanation once. But a meeting? Chiron glanced at her and she met his silent question with a small nod.

Mordred inched back, crossing her arms and peering at Jeanne's steely expression. "...huh? Wha…? But if you're saying what I think you're saying then the food better be free."

Sieg blinked; he didn't comprehend the French and Astolfo beamed.

 _"Oui, oui!_ Ruler speaks _la verité!"_ Astolfo being excited was an understatement as he jumped up and down in place. "But we should pick up _des aspirateurs._ You know, to clear the air up!" He turned to Jeanne, confident grin playing across his face. "Weird how it is, but speaking _français_ with a fellow countrywoman is great!"

Never mind the fact that Astolfo was originally a prince of England. Jeanne's smile was more subdued and gentle.

"Do you know why?" Chiron asked.

Jeanne touched her stomach as if to make a point and an unpleasant grimace overcame her, as if she was hungry.

"To be fair, we shouldn't put a strain on Yggdmillennia's supplies. The homunculi will have a greater need of it." That was all she said on the subject, cryptic, and Chiron understood her hidden meaning.

"Strain the supplies, huh?" Mordred snorted and whispered the next part bitterly: "But if we coddle them, then they won't get _how_ to live."

If Vlad was here, he would comment something along the lines of "Speaking from experience?" but in his attempt at a reassuring delivery; Mordred would see it as a barbed remark and fight him.

However, there were still homunculi who followed Darnic. Focusing his senses netted him a series of homunculi—strategically standing around but unobtrusive, having their hands physically busy with helping their brethren. But they didn't understand French, only Romanian and even then, at a stretch: other Slavic languages. Jumping into the mental link solely would bring down unwanted attention, and Darnic was jumpy lately. Vlad did not need any of this, the one thing that could erase his iron control of himself.

Mordred opened her mouth, to protest possibly, and then thought better of it.

 _"Seulement?"_ She said finally, mangling the vowels in such a way that had Astolfo and Jeanne cringing and she smirked at the reception. "Dunno. Karna won't be up for to eat for a while."

Servant-only, then? Chiron had no qualms with it, as it would actually be rather beneficial.

"Yes, _seulement_. How about this...we go into town to pick up your Master after grabbing some food? If Lancer's still sleeping, then it'd be best to let him rest more."

"Hmph...fine, I can tell him how shitty the food can be so he won't be feeling like he missed out on something good."

Astolfo got in her personal space, from the surprised annoyance alone, and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Don't be so quick to judge. I'm eighty-percent positive they'll have something for a beef lover like you."

Jeanne pulled Astolfo back by the cape's collar before Mordred ripped off his hand with her teeth. Instead of being concerned for his limb, Astolfo was pensive and held his chin like a philosopher.

"...but I don't get it. If you _do_ like beef, then why are you with Karna and not Achilles?" Astolfo shrugged afterward, reaching an unconcerned conclusion, thumping his fist on a flat palm. "Well, I'm not judging you, just confused—"

"—justWhat is. That. Supposed. To mean?" Mordred's voice was dangerously low. Her clenched hands suggested she wanted to start with Astolfo's pale neck.

Jeanne glanced between the both of them quickly, planning out how to defuse the situation. Chiron took matters into his own hands so she could worry about one less thing.

"Saber, allow us a few minutes to look at Sieg and we can go." Chiron herded Jeanne, Sieg, and Astolfo inside the nearest empty room before she could say no. The door shut alongside Mordred's frustrated grunt.

Once inside, Astolfo stared up at him. Jeanne was too busy guiding Sieg, having given up with attempting supporting himself after entering, to a chair to notice.

Chiron stared back. "I don't wish to make this come off as rude, but are you interpreting their relationship correctly? Saber might not like being open with affections."

"Romantic relationships are a part of families." Astolfo was daring Chiron to contradict him, narrowed eyes and all.

Chiron smiled and shook his head, too wise to enter the trap. "There is wisdom in that, but I fear for your safety if Saber ever realizes the hidden meaning."

 _"J'espère qu'il retourne les sentiments de Karna en la même manière…"_

Chiron swatted Astolfo with a firm hand.

"Agh!"

He had learned a long time ago that knuckleheads needed a solid impression.

"For your sake, I hope that Lancer of Red's feelings are the opposite of what you're insinuating."

* * *

It was pleasant, with the sunlight falling on his skin and a soft breeze as the group made their way into Trifas, using the stone path from Yggdmillenia's front gate. Chiron had been given a three-piece suit with muted shades by Vlad—who must have sewed it; there weren't any other sources and he knew Darnic was never an option.

"—even the word _français_ is beautiful!" Astolfo chirped.

Well, not pleasant for Mordred. He seemed to have decided to educate her on the finer points of French after hearing her pronunciation. Her black plaid was unbuttoned and flew not from wind, but from her brisk pace, trying to shrug off Astolfo. The red leather jacket was still absent and he thanked the gods that Vlad or Jeanne hadn't commented on it. He refused to consider the fallout should Astolfo be the one to say it.

She didn't glance back at him, staunchly remaining ahead of the group by herself. Pebbles went flying if they were in her way into the grass. Hands clasped at the back of her neck, she might as well slap a sign on her back too: don't talk to me. Astolfo, being the social butterfly he was, chatted to everyone. Without fail.

"Indeed," Vlad said smoothly, wearing a similar suit, but clearly suited to the nobility's preferences. "I hadn't the pleasure of frequent corresponding efforts with non-adjacent countries to Romania, but from what little experiences I remember, French had been rather easy on the ears."

"I believe it depends on the speaker's tone foremost. An example would be me or Rider, to start with," Jeanne said. "The same cannot said for a burly man, an old woman, and what have you."

Astolfo nodded and Chiron could see the gears turning in his head. He sighed, knowing something rude would follow.

"Hmmm...hey, Mordred...can you say the word _français—"_

"—fuck."

Vlad snorted and Jeanne was torn between giggling and disapproving.

"'The English are polite and proper…'" Astolfo said it like a mantra, repeating it. _"'The English are polite and proper…'"_

They moved on without Astolfo's participation, after Mordred brought up the Grail topic, reminding them about Karna's words to Darnic in a rather aggressive manner.

"If we must, we can properly squabble over the Greater Grail once Amakusa Shirou and his rouge Faction are removed. Although, I suspect Darnic would be on a hair-thin trigger." Vlad ignored the bait set for him. "But Jeanne, do you believe if we eliminate Caster and Assassin of Red, would it be enough for our wishes? At the very least, I'd wager for one."

"For yours and another but it must be of the 'same scale,'" Jeanne answered, after a moment to think it over.

"And what wish would that be?" Mordred asked.

"The removal of something that I have never done, from my reputation. I'm sure you can understand, as a treacherous knight to others. But I do not mean to offend you in saying that title, Saber."

"Tch. I can't find fault with that, even if there'll always be unsightly gossip about people of interest. Though...maybe there's finally a monarch who knows how to act in this War," she said, though some irritation seeped through when he used that moniker. Her pace lightened and she ceased stomping on.

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Vlad replied.

"...anyway, Ruler, you look antsy," Mordred said, turning around to walk backward, "what's up with that?"

Jeanne almost tripped at the lack of hostility in her voice and recovered hastily. "...well, would I be out of place in believing you'd like to try for human incarnation if you get the Greater Grail?"

Chiron and Vlad paid close attention to the conversation, as Astolfo was uncaring, since he had Sieg.

"...sure, but what's it to you?"

"There is another option besides human incarnation." Jeanne licked her lips before continuing in a careful, deliberate tone. "As Heroic Spirits who remain in this world, tethered by the contract between a Master and a Servant, it would not be impossible to keep a Heroic Spirit's existence— _but...!_ Please consider how in a normal Holy Grail War, it is the Grail itself that stabilizes, or undertakes the heavy lifting. It would be quite the burden for a Master to carry it."

He shouldn't have expected anything less, after her outburst about her family last night. However, Chiron felt like sighing, longing for the simpler times of wishes being equal. His simply paled in comparison, in terms of relevance when placed side-by-side to Vlad, Mordred, Amakusa Shirou, and Atalanta's.

Mordred's intrigued grin stayed wide and she said, "Don't get worked up about it! Just knowing that there'll be other options is enough."

"If you say so. Although, something has been eating at me..." Jeanne started, "is there a reason why you...aren't being particularly aggressive to me, even if you said it was in the heat of the moment. You _did_ remark on how I looked like King Arthur... _strangely enough…"_

"I've thought about that too," Mordred admitted and waved a hand. "Doesn't matter now, since you're way more emotive than him, so there's _that_ for a clear differentiation. This is just a dumb coincidence. A stupid prank. Let's be honest, I'm not about to go calling you my father and drag you into my mess of a family."

Chiron couldn't help but notice how Jeanne sagged with relief far more than she should be. It must be related to the promise last night, then.

Astolfo sped up to Mordred's side so he could slap her shoulder with gusto, laughing.

"Wow~Morry—can I call you that?" Astolfo ignored the warning growl. "I can tell you're not really a mean knight. You're just kind of bad-mannered, like a kid. But you know what they say about hard exteriors and soft interiors! Earlier, I thought it was great that you're willing to share Karna by ordering Sieg to—wait _stopMorryplease!_ Nononononono! Come on— _wwwhhhhhhhyyy!"_

A stampede created by two elephants entered Trifas.

Truly, the power of intentional innuendos was frightening. Chiron rubbed his forehead.

Astolfo and Mordred arrived at the restaurant within seven minutes. Chiron, Jeanne, and Vlad caught up twenty minutes later, after following broken cobblestone, felled fences, and roaring clouds of dust, having taken the matter of horrified bystanders into their own hands. Yggdmillennia would take care of the expenses though the farmhands would be paranoid for months.

As for Trifas, its families would come to tell their children of the golden _balaur_ and the pink _şolomonar_ as the newest victim zipping across town. While entertaining for children, adults would commonly pose the _şolomonar's_ flight as an Aesop for avert children from tormenting animals.

The message was undermined by the continued existence of the _şolomonar_.

* * *

 _Dreams are dreams, and he knows this to be an enduring truth._

 _He dreams of a sister and a brother in the midst of a gentle childhood. The brother is passed over for the sister, too useless to be anything but a caretaker. It's a familiar, similar situation, enough to make him wonder if dharma haunts Vasusena on purpose by now._

 _His heart is tied into a knot in the end._

 _A blurry dog runs around his legs. The brother and sister's bond strengthens. The recognition and understanding of the boy comes fairly quick: his new Master. That is a simple truth. But anything can chase him amongst shattered gold and dreams are not an exception._

 _There is nothing he can do to wipe away the beckoning heat caressing his eyes and an icy liquid wants to find a release so it may ease this urging sensation._

 _But the sun cannot face him here._

 _There are no judgments here._

 _But they are nauseatingly vivid dreams of exhaustion and anxiety that churns his stomach, in an intimate manner that he could never forget. Stripping his flesh off inch by inch with his hands, leaving tangible shame and it's like he's finally naked and there is nothing left to cover up himself: to remove this weakness of him because he is now marked as Kunti's son not Surya's son anymore oh nonono I am a foolish_ ungrateful _son because Indra's shock confirms this desert haze which chains him to the drenched earth so something orange can breathe down his neck in a terrible heatwave, scorching his fragile back and sear the blood amongst blame and humiliation and my_ father's disappointment—he was a goddamn fool.

His heart wanted to burst forth, ripping his chest open and take the eternal warmth, and Karna's eyes shot open to the taste of a coppery liquid on his tongue. Discarded, the leather jacket tumbled to the floor when he forced himself to wake up. To unclench his jaw meant letting a toothache set in but he couldn't care right now, flopping onto his back.

He breathed hard.

Karna half-heartedly smacked his cheeks to instill calm as he stared at the ceiling, alabaster flakes peeling just like—he forced himself to burn that uneasy path into harmless cinders and do something else. His hands dropped to his neck and he absently traced the curve, crossing the apple. It ended up re-carving an invisible scar from whence Arjuna cut off his head _—so long ago—_ and he accepted the strange solace in it.

Familiarity.

Routine.

With his dream fading, he could remember reality, think clearly.

His breathing settled into a jumpy pace.

A sigh was knocked out of his chest and relief wormed its way inside when the nightmare's vestiges dissolved. Karna had been mildly disappointed Mordred hadn't wanted to share the bed—and annoyed that he couldn't have the luxury of extending the offer to Achilles or Atalanta. But it was for the better that she wasn't present.

It had to be evening by now, the instinctual connection with a certain flaming orb guiding him to this conclusion.

He blinked away the lethargy as he got up, trying not to send a rush of dizziness to his temples. Sore muscles provided extra incentives. A yawn escaped while swinging his legs over the side, hair falling into his eyes and he reached up to brush it away and the hand twitched in the way when you were starving and couldn't muster the strength so it curled in itself until fingernails dug into flesh.

It took exactly six seconds to stumble over to the bathroom and allow residual nausea to empty his stomach. As much as it burned his throat, he felt slightly better even if his head throbbed. The pulsing indicated a headache, faint as it was, still enough to cross the boundary of being annoying, and unable to be ignored.

Karna was suddenly aware of his chest rising and falling, trying to regain his breath. He needed to check the map of scars and bruises and skin embracing his body.

He looked up.

Sweat trickled everywhere as he stared at his reflection, shaking hands holding onto the porcelain sink, thankful for no one being present to witness this moment of weakness. Then the shirt constricted his chest like a winding snake and he ripped it off in a hurry, uncaring of damaging the buttons. He shuddered and refrained from making his scorched skin a reality, hugging his sides.

Karna hated this, this weakness of him and he hated himself for ever allowing himself to be affected by it. He had to be strong for Mordred because of how frail, how distraught, how _lost_ she seemed must have been during his absence. An iron knight with a paper heart. By his estimates, he'd been gone for less than half an hour and Mordred's dependency worried him. But it wasn't like he could express this to her without saying the wrong words—long enough for her to storm off and possibly drag in other Servants, creating a mess larger than he could handle.

"...I need a bath," he whispered to himself, knowing better. Dreams were dreams and were not a reflection or only a half-truth.

* * *

 _"Caules!"_

"Well, I'm sorry for being concerned about you!"

Fiore couldn't even rub her forehead in pure consternation, having put both her arms to work at wheeling herself down the halls. If she had to make a point to Caules about her aptitude then she would Though she minded where she rolled, even if they already passed the makeshift hospital wing. Homunculi bustled about from carrying medical apparatuses to delivering messages.

"I believe telling the Servants about the Hanging Gardens is a better option _and more relevant_ ," Fiore retorted, "seeing as it threw a wrench into our plans. It's good thing we hadn't undertaken extensive preparations quite yet."

"But won't that mean the probability of you meeting a Servant on the battlefield greater?"

"There are risks we must take, Caules," she said, thankful that the opened _doors to the cafeteria were coming into sight._

"Then consider the risk of going against the way of Magi, with your relationship and Chiron—what if you were to get into trouble!

 _"Argh!"_ Fiore's ponytail became even more tussled as she dug her hands into it. "Treating my Servant as a person isn't very _Magus-like?!_ Then, Caules, you realize then you aren't very Magus-like despite Chiron's words with how you and Frankenstein bonded! I realize, and understand, that you aren't considered a Magus because of our family, but you told me you wouldn't hesitate over killing Celenike unlike me! Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that one of the values Magus society praises?"

Caules's damming words dumped ice-cold water into her veins. "I...heard you crying after Darnic was gone."

"...well...ev-even if-if I killed...Celenike _—Caules!"_ Fiore glared at him until his mouth was shut. Her chest would still be tight with worry but this was something she would have to suck it up and move on. Hearing from Astolfo about what she did to him had mitigated part of it and she still had her absolute pride in her abilities, after all, to defend. "...listen to me, either you can keep worrying about me, or we can go tell Sieg and forget this conversation for now. I don't want us to be split over such an issue."

Darnic's current foul mood worried her, and even though she had his favor, Fiore kept fearing for her well-being. Karna's words had practically poured oil on his flaming nerves. So though Caules kept badgering her by calling into question of her ability to perform competently, it was a better alternative than letting him be interrogated by Darnic on Karna's abilities.

"I need you to stay near me, when Grandfather is like this," she continued as the opened doors to the cafeteria came into sight. The flood of homunculi dwindled when she neared, thankfully, so she could take a breather by slowing down—she just knew her muscles were burning already, and regret for pushing herself so hard could take a backseat until the end of the Great Holy Grail War.

"I know that," Caules said, sighing, but his defeated tone remained at the forefront of her mind, "but can we at least talk some more, later—after sharing the news?"

Fiore did not _want_ to but picking out the back of Sieg's head was like a beacon of sanctuary. "Ah, Sieg! There you are!" And it wasn't terribly difficult since the cafeteria was near-deserted.

Caules whispered in her ear, before she could continue wheeling herself, "At least let me take over for this."

"If you can postpone this conversation, then it's fine." Fiore breathed a sigh as her wheelchair started moving. Her arms were really tired, but at least she stuck to her guns.

Sieg shifted, looking over his shoulder, and recognition splashed across his face. He was sitting at a table with two other female homunculi, one with a bob cut—she recognized her as Toole, a battle-type—and the other with twin tails who excelled at Magecraft, Althea. The low, but from what she could tell, engaging conversation ceased at her and Caules's arrival.

"Uh...Fiore, right?" Sieg asked and she nodded. "Is something wrong? Does it have to do with my arrangement with Darnic? He's not reneging on the deal, is he?"

"Nothing like that," she answered, smiling at his relief, but feeling anxious over the way Althea tensed and Toole narrowed her eyes. "Uh, I suppose you haven't seen Lancer of Red around, have you? It's related to why I'm here."

Sieg shook his head and pursued his lips.

 _He really looked like a doll,_ Fiore thought. Like a lookalike of Saber of Black...even if he lacked the strong build and refined features.

"It's sort of a strange coincidence but I might talk to him soon, so I can pass on the message. Saber all but ordered me to go and talk to Lancer of Red for advice—on what I want to do," Sieg explained, massaging his arm, as though he needed to do something, and inadvertently showed off the four dragon-shaped command spells etched into his skin.

"He's still hesitating over it," Althea added and directed a stern look at him. "But it's best to rip off the band aid in one pull."

"Huh?" Caules asked.

"Althea and I only have a few months," Toole explained, "whereas Sieg has a year or two. It would be a folly to waste any time fooling around on what he would like to knock off his bucket list."

"You have a bucket list," he deadpanned. "Of course you do—not that it's bad, I'm just...surprised. Were you killing time?"

"Hmph—when you call it 'killing time,' it's rather correct, as the more he wastes time on dillydallying, the more he has less time to live," Toole raised an eyebrow, reminding her of Karna.

"I think living at this point is good enough for me." Sieg blinked and grimaced, as if trying to smile in jest.

Toole chuckled. "That's right...somewhat. How long will that be enough, though?"

 _"Ahem,"_ Fiore coughed. "I'm sorry to interupt, but the sooner I can give you the message, the sooner I can let you guys finish your conversation."

"Of course," Sieg said.

"This is recent information—we still don't know too much about the situation, but the Hanging Gardens has stopped short of Romania's borders," she said, watching Sieg become alarmed. "I'd actually like to discuss this further, but I believe this isn't nearly secure enough."

"Perfect!" Althea cut in, and they looked at her pleased expression with differing amounts of wariness. "I assume the Red Servants and Shishigou Kairi's room are more or less unwatched because Darnic wouldn't want to antagonize Lancer of Black or Ruler—so Sieg may finally get some insight and Lady Fiore can relay her information."

Sieg let out a long-suffering sigh.

Fiore couldn't help the butterflies at Althea's omission, feeling lucky that few homunculi were present.

"Shall we go now?" She said hurriedly. It wouldn't go away until they weren't in the open.

"Yeah, sure. I was just about done eating." Sieg stood up. "Uh, would you like me to push you?"

"Don't worry, I can do it," Caules said, before Fiore could respond.

"Caules?" Fiore's eyebrows knit together, in concern, twisting to get a glimpse of his indecision.

"I'm his... _Master_ ," Caules seemed to have trouble saying "Master" and he bit his lip afterward, looking away. "He did say he'd be fine talking to me...and I kinda want to."

He didn't want to be alone with Kar—Frankenstein's death came to mind and Fiore's clear-cut memory of Caules's blood flecks around his mouth, bruised knuckles, discomfort around Mordred, and crumbling facade accused her. Any remaining anger at his previous words melted away.

"Oh...Caules." Fiore reached out to rub his hand comfortingly. Frankenstein had seen him as a boy, an ally, a friend, not a Magus.

"It's okay..." Caules looked away but didn't stop her.

"It seems like you two are also at odds," Althea stated and Fiore blushed. "Even more perfect. Now, off you go!" She beamed like a preschool teacher.

It was that obvious...?

"Y-yeah..." Sieg was just as amazed as Fiore. "Let's go."

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **des aspirateurs: vacuum cleaners** **J'espère qu'il retourne les sentiments de Karna en la même manière: I hope that he returns Karna's feelings in the same manner** **şolomonar, balaur: a sorcerer that controls the balaur, a dragon, from Romanian folklore**


	19. Chapter 15

Even if the sun pursued him in dwindling dreams, it wasn't like he suddenly detested all things heat-related. Steam covered the air like a duvet blanket and he carded his hands through his hair. The bath water must've been near boiling and it felt positively chilling, while melting away his weariness.

If Vrushali had been here, with him, she'd undoubtedly be able to help him calm down. Listening to her poetry was quite relaxing. Cleansing himself was merely another option. So he bathed out of habit. There were just some aspects of his life he couldn't discard like his armor, and move on, like with the lack of options: accepting the lack of bottles available. Mordred must've squeezed out as much as she could. Only shampoo and soap remained. It wasn't like he blamed her though. He knew she liked keeping up appearances and he preferred simplicity to the lap of luxury in regard to living.

But washing himself could wait. He just wanted to soak and rest. Karna felt so drained of sunlight…would it be selfish of him if he wanted Mordred here to see her grin and let him embrace her?

Trying to think about this wasn't good but it wasn't as if he had a choice. When brought on, reminiscing was hard to dispel, even for him. Aside from Arjuna, and perhaps Krishna, Karna could confidently call himself one of his greatest enemies.

He just closed his eyes and let himself fall into some of his fondest, if not bittersweet, memories of his life.

 _This one is a familiar scene, if only because Duryodhana has consistently paced back and forth in the same area. Karna can see the imprints and makes a note to ensure it gets fixed eventually; he doubts the probability of being around to see it whole again._

 _In the deepest and empty room within Indraprastha's gleaming palace Duryodhana rages and rants where no Pandava or ally can overhear._

 _Today, this rant seems to be connected to Duryodhana's reputation._

 _"If I would mourn, it would not be for the kings, for the widows, or for the gods. I would weep for one man, and one man alone." Karna had watched Duryodhana be slowly crushed under the weight of Indraprastha as the time for the five Pandavas and Draupadi to return near as the sun changed positions, but always watching, for a long time. But it is not nearly enough. Never would it be nearly enough._

 _Krishna's cajoling and revelation has put Duryodhana in a terrible temper and Karna cannot blame him. But regardless of his current feelings on the matter—annoyance and anticipation—he doesn't talk out of concern and respect. It is best to let hot-headed people like his king to talk it out._

 _"You are more human than you think," Duryodhana says suddenly and whips around to face him, face alight with the passion Karna knows like the golden glint of his armor. "Would a spear choose to weep for my plight, after I vowed to fast unto death? And you pledged to never drink fine wine again until Arjuna would be felled by you?"_

 _"I do not recall ever weeping." He refuses to let his friend lie on his behalf to make Karna appear to be better because it was true. He's too familiar with the penalty of lying to make yourself look good after his teacher had found out his true caste: a Kshatriya._

 _Duryodhana simply slaps him on the shoulder and laughs. "You know what I meant!"_

 _And he does too, with Duryodhana; even the most complex of social interactions seems like a pleasant dream. If only he can be accompanied by his friend all the time…_

 _"Something's troubling you," Karna says without attempting to keep his bluntness in check. If Duryodhana notices any attempts to soften his words, then he'd worry._

 _Duryodhana's scowl is fierce and leonine, proud and strong. "The Pandavas have returned from their thirteen long years of exile, as you very well know. They will want me to give them back the kingdom. And to make matters worse, they will likely demand that you join them as their eldest brother," he finished, sneering._

 _He knows a prompt when he hears one, most of the time. "And will you accede to their demands, to avert Kurukshetra from being dyed red?"_

 _"That is quite debatable." Duryodhana laughs like a starving hyena, sharp and vicious. "But make no mistake, my friend. They mean to take back Indraprastha and usurp the world's gilded throne from my hands as I endure the shame of being bested—but there is nothing in this world that I cannot fight and win to keep you by my side. I know you, Vasusena. You are not a Pandava, you have not been nursed by their mother, you have not won Draupadi's favor, and you certainly have not been welcomed into their arms and called 'brother' by them. You are not a part of the deal. This I cannot allow!" His voice rises at the end and Karna cannot fault him for it._

 _Duryodhana's passion is wild as a proud lion; his voice, despite not changing in pitch or tone, seems to roar unyieldingly throughout the room._

 _"You won't?" Karna's eyebrows rise on instinct even as the warm sentiments burn along with his cheeks. It's been proven many times but to have someone who is not Surya who loves him is still strange._

 _Instead of responding to his question, Duryodhana directs a stern look at him, compelling Karna to relinquish his utmost attention. It is the charisma, many would say. But Karna cannot look away, cannot do anything but drag in bated breaths._

 _In a low tone, he says, "Are you worried?"_

 _Karna reflexively looks to the side and Duryodhana exhales, coming closer to bring him in for a shoulder-hug. He is incredibly patient and Karna doesn't deserve his friendship, as much as Duryodhana refuses his refusals. As Duryodhana's hand rubs his shoulder in a reassuring gesture, he can't help but feel aching restlessness at the touch._

There will be a victor, _he thinks, and_ I will be the loser. _There are no other words that come to mind. He has given Duryodhana numerless things beyond the weight and value of the crystallized sunlight clinging to his frame: every feat made possible by all his loyalty and bravery. All Duryodhana had given him was a title and a kingdom and he has given his king the world. This, he will gladly do again and again till the universe became drifting stardust or till he returned to that soothing embrace of his divine father. But there are secrets, emotions, and decisions he will not burden Duryodhana with._

 _"I am not," he says finally. It feels like eating hot coals but he must._

"Suyodhana…would you have recognized the person I am now?" But he would, because Duryodhana wouldn't have ever decided to make him Angaraja if he couldn't. He tried to push his hair back again and succeeded. Then Karna sank until the water reached his chin only to wince as he accidentally hit the back of his head, reluctantly sitting up again.

Dwelling on these thing was becoming a bad, unwanted habit…

The bathtub was unfortunately suited for someone closer to Mordred's height so the back of his knees rested on the edge, leaving his feet free to dangle. With no small amount of amusement, he realized resting his elbows on the bathtub's sides made him feel as though he reclined on a throne. In all honesty, he would take this throne over any opulent one. Perhaps it was originally intended for the homunculi walking in this castle. On average, he supposed, they tended to be of the smaller, leaner variety.

But after recalling the memory, and how he spoke of her being remarkably similar to Duryodhana's primary traits, it was quite hard to think otherwise. Karna couldn't shake it off. Mordred was so, so, so very much like Duryodhana that it almost hurt to look at her, not that it would stop him if it did.

If Duryodhana was a proud lion than Mordred was a playful kitten.

Namely, how Duryodhana would read a new book as though he'd done so a thousand times whereas Mordred wouldn't hesitate to explore it, regardless of any bewilderment, partaking in entertainment before appearances.

The blinding difference was age and experience.

Atalanta had pulled him aside before converging on Yggdmillennia and divulged Mordred's true age. He'd been taken off guard, but in hindsight, it made sense. Mordred likely didn't seem to understand how pertinent it was, withholding it from the explanations back then. Did she honestly believe he would think less of her for such a reason?

There was also the matter of her parentage. In spite of her discretion, Karna had glimpsed the sprawling scars on her hands. He had no doubts that they weren't accidental or self-inflicted. If he ever obtained the fortune of meeting Morgan le Fay, he would be thankful for the opportunity to assess such a paradoxical woman for himself and condemn her summarily.

Her father was a more difficult matter. He explored King Arthur's legend in greater detail from the books available to him—through the Red Faction and Yggdmillennia's miraculously-undamaged library—and one of the most disturbing stories had been Arthur's attempt to kill Mordred as a baby on May Day. Though it certainly had no factual basis, it made him wonder what would have happened had the King been informed by the clairvoyant Merlin. Would he truly attempt to kill Mordred like in the story?

In the end, King Arthur was a loaded subject and from the way she talked about him, it was likely that even Mordred couldn't be completely sure if she loved or hated him.

With that settled, he turned to the allies they found.

Both Jeanne and Vlad were easy enough to understand. Stalwart in defending their religious beliefs to the point of causing their deaths.

Darnic was untrustworthy and unstable at this point, so much that Karna knew he could snap at any moment.

Gordes was, despite his guilt and arrogance, a good man but in need to be reminded of that fact.

The Forvedge siblings were fundamentally ill-suited to be mages, disregarding their obvious skills at tactics and magecraft respectively: neither of them were truly willing to follow their craft to the end.

Chiron was an excellent teacher and paternal figure and yet his ruthlessness unsettled Karna.

As for Astolfo, he was good-hearted, if lacking in any kind of sense when off the battlefield. In short, he had obviously been known as a fool in life.

And when it came to Sieg…

Karna understood without a doubt that Sieg was different from Siegfried. How could he not? It would be akin to deeming Mordred to be merely the sword arm of King Arthur. But Sieg's beginning circumstances were similar to his, having been born with everything taken from him and struggled to live even now.

Even though he had sworn to fight with Siegfried again he had pressing matters to take heed of first. It did not matter in the slightest how Siegfried was the first to kindle his interest. It took a mere glance for Karna to tell that Siegfried was someone who granted others' wishes. Though disheartening, Karna thought it commendable for Siegfried to die fulfilling his own wish. Truthfully, it gave him hope that his own wishes might be granted.

All Heroic Spirits participating in this Holy Grail War were all unique. His allies were comrades and his enemies were warriors of commendable valor. Even Shakespeare was worth respecting through the sheer amount of his heart and soul he poured into his work.

Aside from protecting Mordred, Atalanta, and Achilles from Amakusa Shirou's needless if undeniably generous salvation, he would like to rescue the rest of the Red Masters. Cumbersome it may be but he wouldn't deny this one urge of altruism...even if it was more like the right thing to do.

Well, Mordred would be inclined to agree with him, in spite of her own doubts on the matter. She excelled at being a knight—traditional chivalry notwithstanding—thanks to her good heart and pure love for her country, no matter its changes.

They already commenced with Kairi, anyway.

* * *

Most of the tenseness from sore muscles were gone by the time he finished. Although he was in a much better mood from when he woke up, he wasn't eager to get out but his hands were starting to wrinkle.

While toweling off his hair he heard a soft knock.

"Uh, Lancer…it's me, Sieg. Are you busy?"

"I'm not. You came at a rather convenient time." Karna kept drying his hair. "Is something troubling you?"

"Sort of…ah, the Forvedge siblings want to talk too. But they got sidetracked with getting something. They said something about finding some deactivated golems that Caster of Black hadn't destroyed."

"Oh?" Karna felt his eyebrow raise, finally pausing. He couldn't recall any reasons why both siblings would want to talk to him, excluding Caules's status as his new Master.

"They'll probably be here after we're finished tal—agh! Sorry…I didn't mean to spring it on you. " He heard feet shuffle in an apology.

"I understand stress can go a long way in making a fool of oneself. In that case, you needn't worry about it," Karna called and Sieg's shuffling ceased. "Please, come in."

While he heard the door open and close, he hung up the towels, deeming his hair more damp than soaking, and shrugged on his shirt. Though he left one towel around his shoulders to cover for any droplets. Karna finished buttoning up as he exited the bathroom, steam crawling out along the floor.

Sieg had taken a seat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a knee up and down, hands interlacing as fingers wriggled nervously. All in all, his anxiety shot through the roof. He watched Karna drag a chair over to him and settle, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Is there a certain topic you'd prefer to start with?" Karna said when it was clear Sieg couldn't bear to keep eye contact with him for more than a few seconds.

He kept averting his gaze as he responded, "I don't really know, actually. Saber just told me to talk to you."

Karna refrained from sighing. He didn't mind this at all but it'd be a little nice of Mordred to at least tell him in advance.

His eyes fell to Sieg's command spells, fully expecting the guarded gaze.

"I believe it wouldn't be wrong to assume this is about Saber of Black and the homunculi?" He switched to Sieg's face, to see the nod, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Then allow me to explain. As much as I desire the chance to cross weapons with Saber of Black, I simply can't. There are more important matters to be concerned with." Karna watched Sieg cease playing with his hands. "The two of us made a promise to fight to our hearts' content once, but that would only be satisfied with one of us dead, and it is not as though Rider of Black and Ruler or Mordred would allow such an outcome to materialize."

Although he found a fierce joy from fighting on the field, a spear to be wielded and released from the obligations of being born a charioteer's son, there was a greater joy to be found in making the people he cared forcontent.

"Oh, that's good to hear…" Sieg trailed off, relief showing in his sagging shoulders. That was promising, he was actually listening to what Karna was saying, "but there's something that's been eating at me, even though I get why. I'm a homunculus, and yet, you treat me like a person. It's because of Saber of Red, isn't it? She'd despise you if you treated homunculi like objects."

"On the contrary, Sieg. It is not easy for homunculi—or self-aware fabrications of living beings, to grasp life and freedom. I admire it, to be honest." He doubted Mordred would even consider him and her as friends, or allies, should he have disregarded homunculi entirely.

Sieg's eyes widened, leaning forward. "Then...why?

Karna smiled softly. "Whether homunculi or human, it matters not what they are. It is a given for Heroic Spirits, more than mere conduct. Every one of you are the futures we heroes strove to keep aloft, treasures in every way possible; for that reason, we are merely shadows of bygone eras."

"About that…" Sieg looked down at his knees, "Ruler mentioned something earlier that was bugging me; there's apparently a rule Heroic Spirits have to follow to count as such, ' _the dead cannot rule the living.'_ I don't know why, but I can't quite bring myself to agree with that idea."

"I don't expect you to. That rule isn't as connected to Heroic Spirits as you might think."

Sieg looked up at him in surprise, "It's not?"

"Rather, it's a piece of philosophy that several Heroic Spirits come to hold while in the Throne of Heroes. The essential idea is that we are already dead. Perhaps not in the sense that our beliefs foretold we would be, but dead in the sense that we left our material bodies behind. Therefore according to many of our beliefs, it would be considered wrong, if not blasphemous for a dead man to try and improve the state of the living for the very reason that you must be alive to truly understand the living."

"So what you're saying is that there's no ironclad rule?" Sieg looked hopeful. "Heroic Spirits aren't restricted in what they can and can't do?"

"I see it was the apparent lack of freedom that bothered you. To answer your question: no. The freedom of Heroic Spirits is unrestricted in that context, except morally. There is nothing truly wrong if a Heroic Spirit doesn't follow that idea, apart from the possible conflict that could arise with fellow heroes who do follow it, such as Ruler."

"It's…strange...but I feel reassured." Sieg swallowed. "You see, if possible, I want Rider and Ruler to stay with me after Amakusa Shirou is defeated. I don't want to experience life's apparent pleasures without Rider. I've practically been with him the whole way, and Ruler's presence is reassuring." He blushed, a soft pink like the coming dawn.

"That may be difficult, especially for Ruler. Did she not say that she's possessing a human?"

"Yeah," Sieg sighed. "But it's the only plan I've been liking right now. Toole and Althea—my fellow homunculi—have been helping, but it's not enough."

"I can understand your sentiments," Karna replied, and admitted, "I wouldn't be opposed to living a second life with this new family I've been adopted into. However, it would be less of a hassle to make that a reality with Servants not using possession as a medium for materializing."

"Human incarnation, you mean?" Sieg asked. "Do you think we can bring this up to the others?"

Karna nodded. "Perhaps all of us can find some mutual ground in suggesting human incarnation. It isn't as though we have particularly disagreeable members."

He very much doubted the possibility of Darnic or any other Magus besides Fiore, Caules, or Kairi getting their hands on the Greater Grail. Not if Vlad and Jeanne had anything to say about it.

"But I wouldn't keep your hopes up too high," Karna continued. "We must defeat Amakusa Shirou and his Servants first."

"Yeah, I understand."

Silence reigned afterward and Sieg resumed fidgeting. Karna just adjusted the towel on his shoulders, waiting for the homunculus to spit out what he obviously wanted to say.

After a moment, Sieg blurted, "Thank you!"

"It was not a problem." Karna dipped his head. "Of course, now that the matter is settled, I'd like to know about the Forvedge siblings wanting to talk with me."

Sieg looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending as though he had forgotten about them. "Ah…yeah, that's right! Caules needs to speak to you about something…something important, I think."

"That's hardly surprising as he is my new Master. I take it that he wants to establish our relationship?" Recalling the bits of actual information from Mordred's vigorous recount of her battle against Frankenstein, he understood that Caules now commanded someone close to the Servant who killed Frankenstein.

"I guess so," Sieg said, scratching his head, and got up. "But I should go—to get out of your hair and give you some privacy."

"No, that isn't necessary." Karna raised a hand. "Regardless of the topic of our discussion, it will not be something that is needed to be kept private. In any case, I'd prefer to ask you a question before you leave."

Settling back into his seat, Sieg tilted his head in confusion as he looked at Karna. "What is it?"

"At the time that you became Rider of Black's Master, you possessed three command spells, is that not so?"Sieg gave a hesitant nod. Jeanne and Vlad had taken it upon themselves to lay out the situation in its entirety during their tour. It concerned him, to say the least. "However, within the same time frame Rider's former Master had already used all three of her command spells to order her Servant to kill you."

Sieg flinched at what must be a traumatic memory, paling, but Karna went on, refusing to lose the momentum of this potentially-important conversation.

"Furthermore, Saber of Black's Master had already used all but one of his command seals in an attempt to inflict damage on Achilles, so…" he trailed off, hoping that Sieg would reach the same conclusion.

Thankfully, Sieg quickly caught on, raising his hand so that they could both see the black command spells. "So, why is it that I received three command spells when only one hadn't been used for Siegfried?"

Karna nodded solemnly. "The Grail couldn't have registered your ability to transform into Saber of Black as a new Servant, since none of the special abilities or equipment that both Rulers possess considered Saber of Black to truly have died. Rather, they registered him in a state of limbo. However, if the Grail registered you or something in your control as a completely new Servant, it would likely consider you as the closest thing that Servant has to a Master and grant you the three command spells."

Sieg's eyes widened in shock as the enormity of this implication hit him. "But-but that would mean that there's a _seventeenth_ Servant!"

Karna's voice remained cool, despite Sieg's panic. "Yes, or a passable facsimile to fool the Grail itself. If there is such a Servant, I can safely say that it is not yet active since usage of your command spells haven't caused it to respond in any way. Nevertheless, you should approach Ruler about this possibility, and keep her advice in mind."

"Her advice?" A look of confusion crossed Sieg's face."You mean her instruction not to use the final command spell?"

"If you do so, it will certainly rouse this Servant from its slumber and we will not be able to predict what will happen next."

A sharp knock cut off Sieg's reply. He flinched.

Karna felt the slightest amount of annoyance over the timing of this interruption, but judging from Sieg's distraught demeanor, it would be best to let him calm down.

* * *

This…was not a calm situation. Sieg became the recipient of Fiore's _are-you-kidding-me_ look several times as a neutral party. In turn, Caules surprisingly looked to Karna for his support. Karna wasn't entirely sure his new Master should be desiring advice from him, considering his lack of familiarity with healthy brother-sister relationships.

"Caules, for the last time, please stop misunderstanding my resolve! If I truly hated killing people then I wouldn't have joined the Holy Grail War, something I hadn't wanted to participate in, with the very real possibility that I would not live to see the next morning on my shoulders."

"Then what about the aftermath if Amakusa Shirou's faction gets defeated? When _—if_ Darnic's still alive, he won't hesitate to mow down anyone who's not named Fiore, and he'll expect you to act like him. That includes killing me!"

"That is a risk I'll have to take. I'm not going to kill my little brother over a wish and I'm going to do what I think is right!"

Karna was inclined to believe that protecting Caules wouldn't become a liability in regard to aiding the team. Although, they seemed to be forgetting still that Darnic was outnumbered by several beings stronger than any Magus, past or present. But it never hurt to be safe than sorry; perhaps Yggdmillennia's remaining members may think it opportune to coerce Fiore into marching to their beat.

"Look, I can get behind a noble goal like that but this is a situation bigger than the both of us. Bigger than a Magus's values."

"Caules. _A_ _re_ you telling me to stand aside? To step back from everything? That's impossible and you know it!"

"Fiore, you—argh! My Servant is incredibly powerful! The only Servants he'd run into trouble with are Assassin and Rider of Red, and even then, he wouldn't go down so easily. Archer's good, but not _that_ good."

"You're forgetting something. Lancer's mana consumption is more than just draining. Even if he doesn't have his armor anymore, the quality of your magical circuits lead us back to square one." Fiore's hesitation was quickly swamped by rising confidence. Squaring her shoulders, she continued, undeterred, "Caules, I _am_ a superior Magus, no matter how you put it in a different light. I _am_ confident in my abilities and _resolve._ Are you telling me that you don't trust me?"

"That's—" Caules stopped and buried his face in his hands, breathing in deeply, losing his momentum.

"...Lancer, what do you think about all of this?" Fiore asked without looking at Karna. She was gripping her armrests with white knuckles.

"Your honesty is appreciated," Karna begun and glanced at Caules. Caules shrunk under his steady gaze. "Even if you are uncertain in this crusade of yours, your resolve is commendable, to say the least. Having said that, your brother fails to be honest. I believe you have been withholding something," he said, not unkindly.

"...that's right." Caules looked to the side.

"I wouldn't say that siblings are meant to complement each other, but this is certainly the case where you two have the opportunity. Should you not work together in harmony through your strengths instead of your weaknesses?" Karna decided to get straight to the point. "Though you may not have summoned me, you are now my Master. I must ask you, why do you desire the Grail?"

Caules lifted his head and pursed his lips. "...well, originally, I had no real desire for the Grail and my command spells just showed up one day." He looked down at his marked hand throughout his explanations. "That doesn't mean I don't have the desires of a Magus, but what's the worth in wasting a wish when it'll just come true for your family in a hundred years' time? I'd probably just bring back my sister if she died during this war." He looked up at Fiore after finishing, looking uncomfortable.

"Caules…" Fiore spoke softly, looking almost ashamed of herself for her own perceived selfishness.

Before she could say anything more, Karna raised a hand and motioned for Caules to continue. "But now, Master? What has changed?"

Caules swallowed nervously. "Well, then I summoned Berserker and it struck me just how different Servants are from how we remember them. Mary Shelley's book did say that the 'monster—'" disgust coated his tone, "—was surprisingly well-spoken, but that didn't prepare me at all for Berserker."

A flash of something hard formed in Caules's eyes as he continued, "And it's not just Berserker! Saber of Red is nothing like the typical Mordred, Archer of Red had cat-like features, Spartacus was utterly insane even for a Berserker, and Jack the Ripper was a little girl!" Having realized that he had started shouting, Caules coughed into his fist, trying to regain his composure. "In any case, I know that the Great Holy Grail War is supposed to stay a secret, but I want people to know the true people behind the legends." His fists clenched. "I don't want what happens during this war to be meaningless, not after I killed Berserker. No matter what happens, I want this War to be _remembered!"_

Karna closed his eyes in understanding. "I see. You have no interest in the Grail itself, but rather the conflict that arose from it. I can see why it chose you to be a Master. Very well, I acknowledge you as my Master. From this day forth, I will serve as your spear."

Caules's smile was hesitant but earnest.

Karna allowed him a few more seconds before adding, "Although I will ask of you to consider how some pre-existing relationships have me in a predicament, when you give orders."

"That's fair," Caules said, after pausing. He stuck out a hand with the other adjusting his glasses in apparent nervousness.

"You have my gratitude, Master," Karna replied after shaking hands. It was rather odd that Caules was technically the first Master he had spoken to in person.

Fiore had been scrutinizing her brother as she said cautiously, "I realize that you aren't in the same position as I am so parts of my criticism aren't well-grounded." She drew in a deep breath. "I'm, I'm _sorry_ for my words earlier. I have been too harsh, and ignoring your own mental state, as well."

"I'm sorry too _—I'm just so worried,"_ Caules confessed. "I might be an idiot sometimes and as my sister, you still look out for me. Sometimes I forget to show my appreciation and come off as some ungrateful moocher. It's just— _Fiore,_ I don't want you to lose anything else."

"I feel confused." Sieg turned to Karna. His voice dropped to a whisper and even shielded his mouth, but the Forvedge siblings were preoccupied. "Is-is that how reconciliation's supposed to happen?"

Karna glanced at him, taking in the utter bewilderment. "What manner of reconciliation did you encounter to make you think otherwise?"

Sieg could only splutter. As though he regretted broaching this subject.

Thinking back on his reaction to his thoughts on Astolfo and Jeanne, Kana understood the cause. Even though he hadn't let it slip, Sieg clutched Karna's arm beseechingly with a pained face after he regained control of himself. "Can you forget I asked at all? Oh—hold on—actually, can you help me out with something? It's...it's _important."_

"I believe I'm not as fati—" Sieg pulled Karna along, unheeding of Caules and Fiore's weak objections.

* * *

Aside from strategically-placed lamp posts, moonlight bathing the slumbering garden was their only source of light. Benches had been moved to the side and Karna and Sieg stood in the middle. A thin veil of sweat clung to Sieg's face as he lifted the sword again in a two-handed grip. One of Karna's hands supported his shoulder while the other guided him to hold the sword diagonally, pommel almost brushing Sieg's cheek.

The sword in question was a _zweihänder_ , a sword with qualities more suited to a polearm, thanks to its larger size and weight, but Karna considered this one to be an outlier. Almost six feet long, close to eleven pounds, and still not enough to match Balmung's measurements.

Sieg had explained on the way, that he'd been having problems with his limbs. At random intervals, he would struggle with walking or anything requiring movement. He hadn't talked about this to anyone else and though Karna could respect the reasoning behind it, this situation called for any debilitating knowledge to be given out.

 _I half-expected them to shift into Siegfried's body at any time,_ he had added. It was worrying; as though Siegfried's heart was trying to adjust to this new body by altering bits to better suit a robust dragonslayer, not some fortunate homunculus.

"Even if you let go?" Sieg's hands trembled.

"Even if I let go," Karna agreed. "It isn't as if you'll be sparring anyone right now."

"…alright." Sieg set his jaw and Karna took his hand off his shoulder.

A second later he grabbed Sieg's elbow to prevent him from following the _zweihänder_. It wouldn't do to have Sieg break himself instead of the enemy.

"Damn…" Sieg gritted his teeth, breathing hard. Karna grunted as Sieg's knees buckled, catching him by the waist. "I let it hit the ground... _again_. I _need_ to at least be able to avoid that outcome."

Karna shook his head. "An hour and a half ago, you couldn't even hold it up. Consider this as an improvement. If it continues, you will be able to handle heavier swords without straining your wrists."

Tearing his eyes away from the _zweihänder_ to Karna, Sieg murmured a half-hearted acknowledgement before stilling, looking pensive and conflicted.

Karna's curiosity rose with an eyebrow.

Sieg stared at his chest, ruby eyes firmly fixed where the red stone was buried, even if his shirt covered the exact location. Ever since he peeled off the golden armor formerly fused with his frame, it appeared that the red stone was now the best in enthralling others with its sheer luster.

"Is that from your father too?"

He looked down, where the stone should be, as an afterthought. "Most likely. I cannot remember a time where I did not have the stone; it may be a blessing or simply something given to me as a baby. In the end, it does not matter as it is like wearing a necklace." Karna abided by the sudden urge to not tell Sieg about how Surya had a similar stone too; he was not quite sure why, but it was _eerie_ , so he gave in.

Sieg accepted the explanation with a small nod, wincing as Karna helped him up and over to the nearest bench. He rubbed his legs; they quivered and twitched from the strain.

"I guess this is all I can do for tonight," he stated, dissatisfied.

Karna had gone back to pick up the _zweihänder_ , sheathing and setting it aside on a table. He crossed his arms as he stood in front of Sieg.

"If the Hanging Gardens hadn't been sighted in its return to Trifas, then I would've liked to start sparring lightly," he said, more to himself, "but any progress is better than…" Karna trailed off when Sieg bit his lip. "Something is troubling you."

"I _swear_ this is the last question, Lancer: this is sort of out of the blue, but, uh, have you ever hated Surya? I mean, I know he's your father and all, but…"

Karna could only open his mouth and close it when no words came to mind.

Sieg's cheeks didn't redden though he did hang his head in remorse. "I'm sorry...it's a silly and rude question I know. You don't have to force yourself on behalf of my curiosity."

For once, Karna was at a loss for words. If only Arjuna could see him now, his famed tongue sharp as arrows stopped by what basically amounted to an infant.

If Karna took his time in examining Sieg's facial features, he could definitely pick out some similarities to Siegfried. Should Karna be placed next to Surya, observers would compare the two as possessing different color schemes, sans the third eye and two extra arms. One could call Siegfried Sieg's parent though brother would be more apt and both still fell into the "savior" comparison. Both saved Karna and Sieg when they were merely infants and they strove to not let them down.

"Certainly…Surya is fond of me," Karna began. "Otherwise he never would have informed me of Lord Indra's ruse to deprive me of my Kavacha and Kundala." And therein lay the problem: Surya had gone to so much trouble to protect him from Karna's sunrise to his sunset. It was more than just a boon to his deeds, it was proof of his status as Surya's son. Karna's physical resemblance meant nothing; disowned children were still of the same blood. Truly, Kavacha and Kundala set him apart from the Pandavas.

Arjuna was an exception, and would always be an exception.

He covered his mouth with a hand as Sieg responded. "Didn't he leave you to your fate when your chariot became stuck in the ground?" There wasn't any nausea present and yet he felt an urge to purge his stomach. It must be the realization of becoming Kunti's son if he had nothing tying him to Radha and Adhiratha or Surya that made him sick to his stomach.

It took him a few moments to steady himself. "You may not understand this, but gods aren't always able to interfere, especially when it comes to things such as fate." Sieg was lucky in that regard, being able to control his own fate once he was given some assistance from Astolfo, Siegfried, and Chiron.

Sieg blinked in confusion. "I thought that only applied to Greek Mythology, but you're an Indian demigod, aren't you?"

"Correct. Having said that, Surya was already going against the wishes of several gods when he warned me. Had he actually directly interfered by saving my life, I have no doubt that there would have been serious consequences for the both of us." Karna frowned. "Sieg, I was under the impression that you are still a newborn homunculus. How are you familiar with my legend? Did you read up on it at some point?"

Sieg opened his mouth and seemed to shudder at the question and he rubbed his arm instantly, as though he tried to play it off as merely being cold.

"I—" he stopped as a look of confusion crossed his face. "I can't remember where I heard it, I wouldn't even know where to start researching your legend, but now…" he trailed off, lost in thought.

Sieg lost his concentration when they heard Astolfo's loud voice go: "Why are you guys in the garden? It's past midnight! Master, you need to be resting!"

They exchanged glances before Karna sighed and said, "We will figure this out at a later time. Please try your best at not worrying about it."

* * *

"Don't I look cool, like some grizzled old guy?" Mordred asked, puffing up and resting her hands on her hips.

"The coolest," Karna said, arms crossed, his back to a lamp post. Everyone else had more or less congregated around Sieg, still seated at the table. Jeanne had a worried look on her face; Sieg had been telling the Black Servants about unforeseen repercussions from Siegfried's heart.

"Yes!" She threw her fist into the air. "I told you they'd like the eyepatch! In your face, Rider!"

"No fair! Karna doesn't count, it has to be someone random!"

"Rider, did you get into any trouble?" Sieg asked, interrupting their squabble.

"Ah...not really," Astolfo responded as he rubbed the back of his head. "You know, if you're going to be training, you should try running with her! She's really great at sprinting long distance. Morry and I just ran together earlier."

Karna sidestepped to avoid the bolt of red lightning. Astolfo yelped as he was chased, zipping all over the garden.

"Say that to my face! One more time—I dare ya!"

"What? Calling you 'she' or Morry?"

"Both!"

Jeanne took the lull as her chance to question Karna.

"Wouldn't Archer be a better choice for teaching Sieg?" Though Chiron took over, Jeanne kept a hand on Sieg's knee as she looked at him, suspicious.

"...I'm actually fine with him teaching me," Sieg said.

"I understand, but you are still recovering." Jeanne didn't look away.

Did she believe him to have nothing but ill intentions for Sieg? Ridiculous. Karna allowed himself to be bound by dharma as a Heroic Spirit for penance for his past transgressions; he was slightly annoyed that it was quite difficult to express it.

"Forgive me, Ruler, but I felt that these lessons needed to be imparted onto Sieg as quickly as possible. Regarding that, we may need to hold a meeting to discuss a possibly important issue." Jeanne's stare didn't waver as she seemingly determined the validity of his words before it disappeared in resignation.

"What issue do you want to talk about, Lancer of Red?" she asked.

"I suspect that Sieg is harboring a seventeenth Servant in some form." He heard Chiron mutter a quick "Truly?" before continuing to look over Sieg, who bit his lip. Karna could admire his professionalism when it wasn't directed at Achilles.

Jeanne's hands tightened. "Ah, that is…"

To his surprise, Vlad was fairly interested in his words. "It certainly sounds important, but it will have to wait until we are able to gather all of our forces together." Karna inclined his head in acknowledgement and Vlad continued, "Jeanne, do recall how I suggested a similar meeting this morning."

"I wasn't disagreeing with him," she said sternly.

Meanwhile, Mordred had finally managed to get Astolfo in her grasp.

"It was a term of endearment—you know... _nicknames for friends!"_ he got out as she put him in a headlock.

"Who the hell ever said we were friends?!"

As Mordred tried to throttle the life out of Astolfo, Sieg took the opportunity to get Karna's attention.

"Thank you," he said, "for putting up with a novice like me."

"I assure you, it wasn't a problem at all."

"Still, you've could've been resting now. So let me entertain you next time." And then Sieg smiled, half-exhausted, half-eager. Even though his smile seemed

Karna didn't have to turn around to see Mordred's sudden alarm as her grip went slack. Or Jeanne's frozen face, or Vlad's ardent desire to be anywhere but here, or Chiron's fond exasperation. Astolfo's wild laughter was more than enough.

"That is unnecessary," he said quickly. "We are allies, so it's only courteous to aid you, and I believe this would be the best opportunity to tell Rider and Ruler what you harbor toward them."

"That isn't what I had in mind," Mordred hissed into his ear after Sieg stood up. " _What_ the _hell_ is _he_ talking _about_?"

"Only a realization," Karna said simply, finding it best not to confuse her with the entire explanation.

"Rider, Ruler, I need to tell you both something." Sieg pulled Jeanne along, over to Astolfo, and joined his hand with theirs, much to Jeanne's surprise and Astolfo's amusement, and said unwaveringly, "I want to thank you, for all you've done. Because you both gave me freedom, that's enough for me to continue living. So, because I can't put it into words, I want you to use my body to thank you both!"

"Well, when you put it like that, I can't argue with you, Master!" Astolfo grinned and threw his arms around Jeanne and Sieg's necks to bring them in for a hug. "Awwww, I'm so glad you're starting to do what you want!"

"Oh," Mordred said and lowered her hand.

"H-huh?!" Jeanne's red face put tomatoes to shame as her jaw opened and closed, unable to form else. "Sieg, I-I don't...understand."

Sieg's face and voice were completely earnest. "There's nothing confusing about us. I just want us to be together and experience what life has to offer. There's no way that I could imagine my life without the two of you."

"He's right, you know!" Astolfo managed to get out when he wasn't laughing.

Chiron just smiled when she looked to him in panic for help since Vlad seemed preoccupied with disassociating.

"Truly, Ruler? I had you pegged as a devout Catholic as I don't recall polygamy to be practiced in the Bible," he teased. "I'm pleased to see that some things remain the same, no matter the era."

Jeanne waved her free hand furiously in denial. "I-I assure you, it's nothing of the sort! This is all a huge misunderstanding!"

Astolfo untangled one of his arms to poke Jeanne's cheek. "It won't be a misunderstanding when you join us," he cooed.

Karna thought he could hear the silent scream coming from her.

"Hero of Charity!" Jeanne yelped and broke free. She escaped to Karna, grabbing his hand and covering it with hers. Appealing to him with overflowing panic, she said, "I ask of you to please take _my place!"_

Karna could only stare. Jeanne had come off as a resilient and cool-headed woman to him. The Heroic Spirits in this War seemed to run on contrary appearances and personalities.

"Lancer of Black, you look like you've died and gone to heaven, only to be disappointed." Chiron gave Vlad a concerned look.

"...no," he said. "In fact, I would rather your analogy be altered. It does not do justice to what my eyes are witnessing. These _heroes_..." he muttered. Indeed, Vlad looked like he had just met God, only to have everything he knew about his religion debunked.

Karna didn't need any additional time to consider the request.

"You asked, and so, I shall fulfill your request," he said. "Naturally, I am the Hero of Charity; that has not changed."

" _Je remercie le Père…"_ Jeanne drifted over to a bench and held her face in her hands as she sat down slowly.

"...that's kind of lame." Astolfo made an appropriately-offended face. "But, hey, I'm not complaining." Turning to Sieg with a grin, he asked, "What about you?"

"Well—"

"— _huuuuuhhhh?!"_ Mordred yelled, vein popping in her face, as she blocked Karna from moving anywhere else. Throwing her arms out, back to him, she glared at the snickering Astolfo and confused Sieg.

"Uh," Sieg got out before shutting up at seeing her murder them with her eyes.

"Over my dead body!" she shouted. "The only worthy people who are allowed to woo Karna are Atalanta and Achilles—and none of them are _here_."

"...but you didn't include yourself in that list," Sieg said slowly.

Astolfo could only laugh. "Come on, Master! I thought you knew better than to butt into other people's relationships, especially Morry and Karna's!"

"I'm afraid I've no idea what you mean." Karna tilted his head after grabbing the back of Mordred's collar. "But you are right in one aspect. Mordred and I are indeed in a relationship."

A daring grin splashed across Astolfo's face. "Have you guys slept together yet?"

" _Rider!"_

"At least twice." Karna's addendum of "For napping, and the relationship isn't romantic in nature" was drowned out by Jeanne. Perhaps he should had led with the second part.

"Please! Stop! Talking!" Jeanne shrieked, drawing up her legs too, as if it would help. Chiron scooted closer to pat her on the back.

"Yeah, I'd say I'm great in bed." Mordred smirked—even though she just slit her throat—knowing full well that she just poured oil on the fire. Karna supposed that messing with Astolfo was a different matter than Sieg's declaration. Giving Karna a wink lent the theory solid evidence. "I can sleep for days."

When Vlad managed to recover from the burdensome duty of dealing with rambunctious Heroic Spirits, he strong-armed Karna into clarifying the relationship between him and Mordred. Then he made them go back to their rooms for the night as he rubbed his forehead.

Though he could still hear Rider's loud voice as he closed his eyes, like some specter.

("Well, I assumed it was okay!" Astolfo said. "Since Karna uses 'she' and 'her' so I thought Mordred liked both!")

* * *

 **A/N: Some people have PMed me as to why why I made Karna's cape so fluffy, so I guess other people might have those questions too, and it's because I see a lot of Team AKA [Achilles, Karna, Atalanta] fanart on pixiv and artists like to use Karna's cape as some blanket. For some other clarification, the only pairings will be Astolfo/Jeanne/Sieg (but it's really background), Semiramis/Shirou (the only pairing I didn't dislike), and platonic Achilles/Atalanta (hate it more than Sieg/Jeanne, as an indication of my spite).**

 **Anyway, probably won't be posting multi-chapter stories on here till it's finished on a03 due to formatting issues and how incredibly irritating it is to post on here.**

 **nick1012: I was gonna update later in May to make the wait a lil less inconsistent/shorter but then I saw your review. I love Achilles too my guy, and I'm saving up my SQ for him after Ramses drops in Camelot. Tangent but I basically read Fate/Apocrypha's light novels for him a few years back since the Iliad is one of my favorite epics. And same, I only have Mordred and Atalanta currently.**


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